I'm in a constant reverie,
Morosely contemplating the glistening, vivid, sky
that contrasts with the remnants of earth and vibrant, coloured, flowers.

I turn my gaze to the sea,
not far-off, that seems to splash and crash
in sync with the swaying leaves.

I imagine if the body of water was a physical being,
it would be more powerful than I.
Every muscle, every cell, feels weak within me.
Although, if I had to pick between the sea and the sky,
I would have to choose the sky.

I'd Feel the wind forcibly blowing my face as I
fly with no responsibilities ahead of me.
I could finally be free from every thought,
every 'checkpoint' individuals expect me to achieve.

Since it's not possible, I decide to at least feel the thrill
instead, by jumping off this obscure building,
where mother nature is fighting to take over.

But as my feet leave the ground,
I realize—no fall will truly free me
Maybe freedom is found in the sky within,
where thought and wind can finally cease.

Pretty birds in a cage
Little birds in a rage
Red, yellow, green and blue
All bonded like a glue
They try, cry and weep
They fly and forget the creep
Young friends of Earth
Flightless friends from birth
Wish they were never born
Until they eat sweet corn

There is not one
Which I have not rewarded,
One I have not punished.
From Cyrus To Moses
And each of their children,
That is their nations.
From Rome to Germany
And their siblings,
That is their family.
You stand with your tribe
And you stand against the species.

Today eve is different
Spring makes me overwhelmed.
Sunset is painting the sky with coral red
Clouds giving touch up with heart shape
Some broken, some full
Overcome the past, present to rule.
A sweet, cold breeze runs through me
Taking away all my worry
Fun and joy, want again to be tension-free boy
A new start, this is the life to enjoy.
Embrace the flaw, the moon smiles
The world is mine, and I am free to fly.

On the windowsill, all flailing
Legs and desperation—
At times, it attempts to fly
Away, but soon enough it gives
That up as if to say,
“I can’t.”

The movements get smaller and
Slower, but occasionally there are bouts
Of hysteria
(𝙒𝙃𝙔 𝙈𝙀)
Until eventually nothing is left but a
Feeble twitch and really the question
That you should be asking is:
“Is it still alive?”

It is still alive.

It is still alive but it is tired.

Slowly…
Slowly…
Slowly…

I used to fly
Free as a bird
With no fear of falling

But now I am bound by chains
I have plunged into eternal captivity
Held prisoner by my own mind

The fly explores me,

tickles my arms and my hands --


It cannot be caught.