Freedom

When I saw a bird in a cage,

Which was similar to a torn page;

“Had she done some fault” I asked

That her freedom had come to a halt.

It could not fly over the field of grains

Instead it sang a  song of strain.

Oh! Why I couldn’t feel its sadness

Is it because I live in this world of madness?

I must be dug into the ground,                 

For I didn’t let it dive in the vale profound.

But now I will free it without time spent

Even if I have to cross the Arabian Sands.

She just flew like a soul escaping  from the body’s cage

And I felt attached to the torn page.


-NIKITA PRASAD