Hatchlings
I held their world in the palm of my hand
as well as pieces of what was left of the nest.
I was in awe of necks so delicate and slight,
tufted heads balancing, bobbing, and heavy.
With my finger, I touched them; featherless, pink,
mouths opened - did they think I their mother?
I had no sustenance to give.
In fact, I was the giant that tumbled their world,
doomed them never to soar open skies
or sing sunrise melodies.
They had perhaps one night
beneath starlit sky, one brief morning
of sun and fresh breeze...
But they would never know more. I was thankful
they had each other to cuddle as life ebbed.
Wondered if we are fooling ourselves,
comforted with philosophy and physics,
with our observations, theories, and Nobel Prizes.
Could it be we are as sightless as hatchlings,
perhaps not even as fortunate as the ones
I held in my hands?
For we forget to gaze upon the constellations,
forget to relish sun and clouds, moon and stars,
in fact, close the curtains at noon and night ...
and we often die alone.
Margaret Bednar, March 30, 2019
This is written for "Imaginary Garden with Real Toads - Physics with Bjorn - Cosmology & Expanding Horizons"
8 comments:
You have made an acute observation in this poem, Margaret. Sometimes Physics and Humanity seem out of synch.. or we look too far to find the answer right in front of our noses. life is fragile - handle with care.
Birds are an infinite wonder and delight, Margaret, but oh so fragile, and you’ve captured this in the lines:
‘They had perhaps one night
beneath starlit sky, one brief morning
of sun and fresh breeze...’
I like the way you’ve summed up humankind:
‘… we forget to gaze upon the constellations,
forget to relish sun and clouds, moon and stars,
in fact, close the curtains at noon and night ...
and we often die alone’.
Powerful pathos in the first 5 stanzas - muscular and true -- i then expected the universe to turn out as we are -- bumbling and blind -- but you turn that around and rightly accuse humanity of willed blindness, which is worse than accidental blindness ... and makes one turn a hard eye on the lords of order.
I love your starting point here, the doomed little fledgling, and I felt we are a bit like them despite our Intelligence, we are doomed to die alone...
Ah, that is so well done — the opaqueness of our own observations and all that we can not and all that we choose not to see ring true in your words. It is with a certain inherent empathy that this understanding becomes so impactful in its scope.
WOW! Brilliant, Margaret. We are, indeed, as blind as those hatchlings. I love this poem, and I am sad for the little bird babies.
I'm sorry. I know this caused you pain as well.
It seems we have a lot of knowledge but little wisdom... your poem is wise.
Oh that last line! I can't but agree...totally.
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