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Cuckoo








In the company of death, the face of the day is getting ever more black,

Like a black shadow of the valley of death,

It ominously looms above the deathbed

And closes life into a senseless shell.



You, who knows how to watch,

You, who sees traces

That others cannot see,

On your hearse drowned in a rain of tears,

You can see the birth of a new butterfly,

You can fly up to the sky,

From which there is such a wonderful view of

The old oak's trembling barren hands

That still have the strength to hold the children of

The valley of your youth.



When nostalghia falls upon tear stained eyes,

You once again become young,

Your heart beats faster again,

And voices itself to spite death.



From the hearse, the gaze never meets the clock,

Because death is never late.

When the cuckoo comes out of the old wall clock,

You, who can see traces others cannot see,

You can see a tiny tear

In its small wooden eyes,

Because it leaves for its tiny wooden home,

Just like your life.










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Submitted on August 23, 2016

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Walter William Safar Claim this poet

BIOGRAPHYWALTER WILLIAM SAFAR was born on August 6th 1958 in Sherman-Texas . He is the author of a number of a significant number of prose works and novels, including "Leaden fog", "Chastity on sale", "In the flames of passion", "The price of life", "Above the clouds", "The infernal circle", "The scream", "The Devil’s Architect”, "Queen Elizabeth II", as well as a book of poems.Many times, while escaping the real world, I used to find my sanctuary in the blissful chest of mother Art. With these poems, I am curing the hungry soul, and it hungers for compassion, love and faith, just like any human soul does.Hungry and thirsty, I am staring into the very heart of the dark spirit of my own subconscious, and I would feel betrayed for who knows how many times, only to appease my thirsty soul with a torrent of tears, because poetry is like a tear on the face of mankind.I don't know much about victories, but I am sure of one thing, that compassion is a victory of the human spirit. I wrote these Poems on an old typewriter, which I inherited from a late American writer. This wise, good man used to read poems to me when I was a kid, saying that I too will read my poems to other people, but first I shall roam the world searching for myself.I admit I no longer have the will or power to roam around, but I haven’t lost the will to write poetry. All I want is to share my poems with the whole world.THE CAPTAINImagination is the timeless sail of all words,And words only float without it,Like a windjammer without wind.Without imagination,There are no journeysInto unexplored worlds,Because the world is but a boundless ocean of desires. more…

All Walter William Safar poems | Walter William Safar Books

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    "Cuckoo" Poetry.com. STANDS4 LLC, 2022. Web. 19 Jan. 2022. <https://www.poetry.com/poem/68768/cuckoo>.

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