Ian Mahanpour

Do you remember?
When Paul sang of singing blackbirds?
Who cry at the dead of night
Wanting only to learn to fly?
And in frantic jerks from left to right
Grope for sight with those sunken eyes?
He was wrong, you know,
They sing at dawn.
But unlike choruses, they do not sing as one
Preferring cacophonous communion to share their discrete love,
All while the lake turns orange with the rising sun
And networks of pine needles criss-cross rays of light
Mirrored in bright yellow beads
Set in their gleaming black bodies, ready for flight.

Paul, you can’t pine the night forever
With your lonely guitar and fragile beats
Serenading every blackbird you meet.
Save that song for when light is abound
And those blackbirds, who are all around,
Fly in droves and make merry talk.
You’ll find that, with eyes wide and your heart dropped,
The peace and joy of these birds will make you balk
And your lips, cracked and withered, will find themselves locked.

Ian Mahanpour is a fourth year studying Musicology and Music Technology. He likes to take a walk everyday and just listen.