Anastasia Krasnoshchoka
 

Bird of Stone

To be made from stone and to feel like a bird
because the wind spreads the dust from the hands.
To see oneself as a bird in the reflection,
although still on the asphalt,
heated from afternoon light at five.
Acknowledging nest
in an agonising corner of the day,
unable to gnaw the air.
Feeling like leaf or feather despite being flesh
and, at the end of the day, be the one to fall.
To be oneself but to feel like others and others and others,
till oneself’s sunset,
and to be back to the origin,
where the mud was faceless,
and the wings lighter.

                                                                     By Bibiana Bernal