Song of the Pipit

The Poet's Corner

By Malcolm Little Black





I sing for the Ocean, from whose rhythm I draw my inspiration,

I sing for the Sun, her rays caresses my body and give vitality to my bone;

I sing for the Stars, the gallant soldiers guarding the night sky,

I’m a Pipit, and singing is my hobby.





I sing for the Tremors,

The Tsunami, The Volcano, the likes…

All that reel out warnings, and sound the Trumpet of the last days;

The friends long forgotten, but forever omnipresent,

The mother nature’s tapestry,

The delicate weaving hands,

The earth Crippers, the Pearl,

Through the song of the Pipit they inhale.





I sing to placate the gods, the fallen Forebears,

I sing for my Mother’s teary eyes, and the showers from heaven;

And for those whose Den lurks in the Wild,

For the Mound affixed with iron tongue,

For the Savannas,

The Meadows,

The Landscapes,

I wag my tail in salutation;

I shall part my Beak with vigor,

I shall give the Truth a perfect rendition.





I do not sing for the Earth-man, his ear never hears,

I do not sing for Vanity, nor would my song last for eternity;

While my voice lasts,

I shall eulogize the Coming Ones – The beautiful work of Art colored by INDIGO –

The would be far-seeing generation, the sharp opposite of the Modern Man,

Then shall my voice cease,

And then shall I fall asleep.





I’m a Pipit, I sing for the World!

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