Perched atop the open cage
ruminating over freedom
nostalgic taste of iron below
and a slightly confused gaze.
she eyes the enslaved liberation
and the illusion of independence,
humanity-her every breath
polluted with myriad obligation.
sorrow masked as hope
punctuating the pursuit of happiness
with sorrow in such abundance
how can I ever cope ?
then she flaps her wings and flies
enters the cage and sings:
this hopeless prison is better
in a world where hope is a vice.
About Me
- Ankit
- Like a particularly notorious child's tantrums, a mountaneous river's intemperance, a volcano's reckless carelessness and the dreamy eyes of a caged bird, imagination tries to fly unfettered. Hesitant as she takes those first steps, she sculpts those ambitious yet half baked earthen pots.
3 comments:
I would rather have the bird fly around in a never-ending pursuit of (non-existent) hapiness, just as a mark of respect for wings and the act of flight. For me, a bird choosing to stay in the cage is a stone, not a bird.
The "verdict" in the last two lines comes down to personal choice I suppose. :)
i know i'd rather have that too. but you know how it goes when you are trying to write something that's nowhere near your forte (with rhymes and all). you take what you can manage :).
my brain melted!
Post a Comment