My Bluebird

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I walked in all wither in the dark alley

A long, narrow, serpentine labyrinth

Of fake hubris, false hopes in dismay

as Reason began to revolt from within.

 

Then I heard the melody from yonder

High over the mean concrete fences

Like a dryad’s melody from a flower

twinkling twilights on her wings.

 

There I arose from the dark slowly

And walked into the sound of light

In the felicity of the unknown suddenly

Beckoning me with the promise of delight.

 

As I came to the corner of the maze

Beyond the alley of another corner

There it was in the distant misty haze.

I saw a bluebird waiting for me pretty, ever.

 

P.S.: The bluebird, as a symbol of hope and happiness because of its fanciful prettiness and rare presence in nature, has been a popular element of folklore. Albeit the French version by Mme D’Aulnoy is famous, my choice is a Russian version of the bluebird, as called upon by Anton Denikin, a military leader of the Volunteer Army in the Russian Civil War during the ill-fated Ice March. And this is my version of recreating the bluebird as a paragon of beautiful hope, the last saving grace for the forsaken left in Pandora’s Box, twinkling like the stars in the Milky Way embroidered on the nightly sky.

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