Is it right to speak of myself?

This will do:

I am a blue-eyed blackbird

My wings know all directions

My flight has touched the colour of the sky

When soaring aloft I've glimpsed the darkness beyond

I've tracked drying rivers and swelling deserts

I've been singed in burning forests

I've kissed anguish as it melts in the rain

I've seen a woman give birth in a tree beseiged by flood

I've changed my body so many times

and yet I am always a blue-eyed blackbird

 

People in flight from war, in hiding,

climbing steep slopes, stop when they see me

Stunned they are so high, so far,

even though I live in their hearts

In the deep lines of their faces

countries are shattered and rebuilt

They buy new locks, news keys to new heavens

What did Boabdil think when he handed the keys

of the Alhambra to Isabella,

whispering, 'Here are the keys to paradise'?

 

This endless flight with no day and no night

when the sun sets and rises at once

Longitude is locked in my eyes

Reading the diary of a poet's dreams

lost in fog, I fall

merging with the earth's dust

a blue-eyed blackbird is born again

 

Arrows, now guns, are aimed at me

I have no fear

My blood will mingle with the crimson of autumn

I'll take flight from another country

Another direction

Casting life from your words

I am not of this world

Is it right to speak more of myself?

This will do