My eyes are broken.
the soul windows won't open,
I want the morning sun in,
but they won't open an inch.
A bird is confined to my room,
thinking about its impending doom
in vain its beating its blue wings ,
while of unspoken sadness it sings.

I need the windows to be closed,
my rooms is to the rain exposed
but they won't stay shut tight,
the bird in my room has died,
it starved to death on my floor,
there is no pain inside anymore,
but still there a blue bird sings
and a symphony of sobs begins.