I watched the birds today,
circling in a sky stained with the ash of cities.
Their wings were fragments of a freedom
I could not reach.
They moved as if carrying secrets,
as if the air itself whispered to them
the truths I have spent my life seeking.
I stretched my arms to mimic their flight,
but the ground held me tightly,
its roots tangled around my ankles,
its weight pressed into my skin.
I wondered—
are these roots my prison or my anchor?
Will they let me grow?
Or will I remain, forever reaching,
my hands trembling toward the horizon,
where the sun dies and is reborn
without asking for permission?

About the Author:

Bita Takrimi is a poet and translator proficient in Russian, Polish, Czech, and Persian. Several of her poems have been published, and she has translated a variety of poetic works.