Tags
birds, death, Dove, Hawk, life, metaphor, Ocean waves, renewed, river, sea, source, struggle, transformed
The political and social struggles in our nation (and the world?) have become increasingly polarizing, divisive and detrimental to positive movement and progress. It has become common to demonize those we oppose to the point we refuse to engage in constructive and useful cooperation. As one party distances itself from the other, the likelihood of stereotyping, blaming and mistrusting increases. The duality of good and evil reigns and what we as citizens share in common is diminished. And as this happens, each opponent blames the other for its occurrence. And both sides lose. In my metaphoric poem, Hawk and Dove, both birds die in their struggle with each other and are carried away by an eternal river to the source of all life – the sea. Perhaps that is the solution to our human struggles: turn or return to our source and trust we shall be renewed again. After all, as in nature, our human struggles over time are always cyclical.
HAWK and DOVE
Crashing ocean waves move swiftly toward the shore until another force pulls them back to their source – the sea – again.
Inland from that roaring sea midst grasses green and brown, a nesting Dove hunkers down to protect her young from a hunter’s beak and claws.
In the sky, Hawk’s narrowed eyes search for food to feed her young. Then, as a falling shadow with folded wings and talons spread, she plunges down upon her prey.
Dove fiercely thrusts high her beak to pierce Hawk’s screaming throat. Too late. The talons stab Dove’s dying form now grasped and lifted skyward until gone.
Under blood red skies, Lark’s sweet song brings peace and sleep at day’s descension into night.
***
Morning’s dawning rays bring light onto a shadowed slope on a distant mountain side. Beneath fir and pine and granite walls, lay Hawk and Dove entwined in death where once they both found life.
Near where they lie a canyon river rushes swiftly to the sea, taking soon the lifeless birds in its waters.
The river seeks only passage, surging always toward its destiny; its flowing never ceasing, with shallow channel, sometimes deep, narrow ’til it widens on its journey to the sea: the source where Hawk and Dove will be transformed into another form.
***
Look more closely now at the lines you’ve read: You could have been the Hawk and I the Dove. Or you the Dove with body crushed and I the Hawk with bleeding throat taken into death ’til finding life once more.
***
In a far-off place midst grasses green and brown, beaten down by tiny feet, infant doves are walking ’round their nest in search of seeds their mother used to feed them. As a young hawk rises from its nest and learns to hover in the sky.