The Green Bird

by Marge Simon
 

Call me Thoth,
though my head is humanoid,
having shed my feathers long ago,
& my heritage is not of ancient Egypt.
 
My small companion translates
in the langue verte ,
green for his feathers,
a combination of phonics,
the perfect language,
key to perfect knowledge.
We traverse the universe
guided by the one with ancient eyes.
 
Once, on an off-world 
we came close to parting ways.
Legions of imbeciles at war
with a moronic aristocracy,
fighting over mythic gods.
True, they were not human, 
those scaly quadrupeds,
but that was neither here 
nor there, to me. 
 
Believing it a senseless war,
I prepared to leave the fools 
to self-destruct all on their own.
My companion disagreed.
 
You have not seen
what lies within the shadows.
You cannot hear the truth.
This is their reality:
the one speaks benevolence,
the other cries for freedom;
messages obscured,
convoluted by fear.
 
My companion spoke to them
in its universal language
of wisdom, love and tolerance
they’d never heard before,
& to them, in time, came peace.
 
Guided by the one with ancient eyes,
we script  symbolic testimonials 
to be understood at the end 
of the cycles of time.