The Sound of Birds at Noon
by Dahlia Ravikovitch
This chirping
is not in the least malicious.
They sing without giving us a thought
and they are as many
as the seed of Abraham.
They have a life of their own,
they fly without thinking.
Some are rare, some common,
but every wing is grace.
Their hearts aren’t heavy
even when they peck at a worm.
Perhaps they’re light-headed.
The heavens were given to them
to rule over day and night
and when they touch a branch,
the branch too is theirs.
This chirping is entirely free of malice.
Over the years
it even seems to have
a note of compassion.
The Silence of the Pond Fish at Feeding
Their darting
is not in the least annoying.
They eat without giving me a thought
and they are as hungry
as Moses in the desert.
They own the water like gold,
they swim without strokes.
Some are Koi, some carp,
but every scale is precious.
Their eyes aren’t tearful
even when they lose a friend.
Perhaps they’re heartless.
The water was gifted to them
to swim in day and night
and when they salute the sky,
the sky too is theirs.
Their darting is always full of mischief.
Over the seasons
it seems to have become
a sign of disenchantment.
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