With Depressed Eyes
The birds I see in the azure sky,
appear as a victim in the hand of pride.
They even see us with depressed eyes!
Who is there to bribe and seduce,
The hunter’s pride, that is always upright.
Still they fly in the vast blue sky,
seeing the world with depressed eyes.
They respect the red angry sun,
which helps them in their nutrition,
and at sunset, they vanish from my vision,
with helpless worms in their proud beaks,
passing in between the mighty sun’s teeth,
merging into the horizon as red as the brick.