By Alex Lire[1]
One day I laughed by a careless stream
And felt the birds in my heart,
The beauty was that of a witch’s dream,
A cloud, a wind, a part
Of the sun that then fell on my face.
But seeing the shrugs and the painful moan
And the hopeless feet in the hopeless race
The birds have flown.
Barjai no 15, July 1944, p8.
[1] No Biographical details available. Maybe a pseudonym.