I think of it every night;
The flapping of the birds as they disturb the tranquil nature of the serene sky,
The rushing of the wind against the flutter of those fast and greedy wings,
The shriek that accentuates the excitement of their chirps,
Which gives a call and response harmoniously and rhythmically,
The grace of their glides as they float around the firmament like pieces of thin paper,
Balanced on the thread of a child’s kite.
I would do anything
To have wings which would flap against the limpid nature of the heavens,
To have a voice which would shriek in exhilaration,
To have a glide like an eagle swooping down on its prey,
To escape the enslaving grip of this haunting reality.