Juvenile Jackdaws from the Clouds by Amit Parmessur

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A baffling rain of

dead birds darkened

my New Year in a

snowy Swedish street.

My knees buried

helplessly in the soft

ground I gazed

at a bird’s harsh demise.

His light blue eyes were

bordered with a deep

desire to soar,

but the carousels of death

inside were growling

too ominously.

The purple sheen on

his crown reminded me

of crazy queens

widowed after one night.

The tip of his beak buried

in the snow was like

a hopeless warrior’s sword

slipping sadly

into its shivering sheath.

No expressions

on his grayish-silver cheeks,

the bill and legs so black

(like fingerish twigs

basking in crude oil),

the green-blue sheen

on his throat

like a dose of poison,

the bird’s small stature

was a giant statue of death

on that white floor.

I was silent,

very silent,

and completely motionless.


BIO: Aged 28, Amit Parmessur is from Mauritius. He has been published in around 85 magazines since starting to submit his poems late 2010. Dead Snakes, Heavy Hands Ink, Leaf Garden Press and The Houston Literary Review are some of the places where he has appeared. He currently edits The Rainbow Rose.