Tarred Birds of Islam
A sky is fitted with bars where flight should be.
Bright birds arrive—feathers of saffron, turquoise, coral—
but cloth is poured on them like tar.
Their spirits kept in rooms boarded shut,
their songs unsung through throats of glass.
Barbed wire forces the grammar of submission.
Black tar covers all their colors
heavy loads fastened to their backs.
Feathers—once lighter than wind—
are plucked into the dust of the courtyard.
Law ties their beaks with barbed wire,
closing every window facing the open horizon.
Even the sun wears a veil of smoke,
as if daylight itself were instructed not to look.
And the birds—
color still beating under the dark—
They carry their song in their ribs,
though their voices are knots tied around their necks.
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