bird, nirvana

took flight, just as I opened my eyes,
as if it had been nesting on the eyelids
& was alarmed at the collapse of its home.

but it wasn't a flight of alarm - not a single feather -
before entering the factory, leaving behind a trail
of the desire to know.

the wheels drenched in soot kept its original colour a secret,
turning endlessly with a sliver of intended symphony,
fueled by a flame & fuelling the fire - an infernal cycle.

but the bird called nirvana whistles - you chase, imitate,
listen and understand, take a deep breath and blow out
the fire, walk out through the far door, greening everything behind.