LITERARY: "Birds Who Lead the Storms" By Darein P. Catchillar

Published by: Rhina Ruth Galano

Date published: May 11, 2022

Time published: 3:27 PM 

Classification: Poetry

Theme: Empowerment, Illusion of Power

Synopsis: Everyone in this vast universe is an ant. Would you be the wise one or the one crippled by your own pride?

I've witnessed these ants devolve into anarchy.

They made the wind trigger their own sanity,

And when it came time for the birds to extend their wings;

Nothing but awful darkness existed.

 

When these birds chirped one less of their ugliness faced to be as beautiful,

These ants have smiled and praised the phony magnificence of their tones.

Their rattling feathers gracefully landed on the tip of our land—

Those weren't gorgeous, but some simular.

 

I detested counting the clouds of the shunless blue,

I trowed it was where they lived—and so it was unjust.

And the deluge dragged us down to our deepest low,

These birds covered up the honor—they flew while we were drowning!

 

The storms with the howling graves and unsettling blacks;

The birds fluttered away, staying secured above the tall birch trees.

Why would they soar so high as we feed so few?

Perhaps because they were one great thinker than you.

 

And these ants wanted to see the good and kind;

Some made a quire, most shouted so madly.

Those who sang didn't scant the living history.

Those who were insane shogged too great to firm an irony.

 

I was one of the ants hidden beneath the gleaming cloak of hope—

I knew how the birds smutched our aims.

I tushed while holding my freedom's pride, indeed!

But I knew certain ants could be so twilled indefinitely.

 

I saw these ants eating the other ants of my kind.

These caitiff ants were steadfast in their conviction.

Only it was never the right thing.

It was never the proper line of breath.

 

Because the birds were once just like us—

They were also the ants of this existence.

But I felt sorry for this discomfort, my land.

Ants gave them power to be the birds.

 

They could now destroy our brown anthills.

Eat our larvae—eat you!

They became so big to easily frush our legs.

They could even devour us whole, leaving us defenseless.

 

Ants were eating ants—

And so the cycle continued.

However, we are the ants—

We are the still-hoping ants!

 

As we aim for a feat land—

We may return the favor by eating the birds.

We might be clever—

Until there is no mind to lack.

 

Because dear birds, we extirp so deep.

And all of you can fap our fellow ones!

But I stand still—do I ever need to live my life in shame?

I come to a halt to stop the birds from leading the storms.

 

I am never one less of an ant—

Always too great of a thinker.

And I know the ants are the reason for foil—

But I blame the birds for gazing down on us.

 

Here, I stand without garboil of what I believe—

I know I'll bite deep into the skins of the birds till they bleed!

Here, I believe I am more than an ant—

And our bite is for the bite of our tomorrow—the one that we want!

Painting: "Bird" by Salvador Dali (1928)