Caged

(If I could dream, unbound...)

Sometimes, I close my eyes and see 
a little bird in a cage. 
I watch the bird peck, 
I love his chirps, and his looks. 
A few times, 
my little bird comes close enough 
to trust and take the food I offer. 
Most times, 
I feel some connection, some bond— 
I know my little bird likes me, 
and I know I like him, too 
(but never enough to set him free). 
Thus, 
often, my heart aches for the little bird— 
this bird, deep down, is unhappy, 
and I know not how much; 
this bird knows 
there is a whole world out there, 
waiting, waiting, 
offering much more than survival. 
But if that was all! (O', that is not all of it).  
I see myself in the body of the bird, 
such times, 
and I wish I could spread out my wings, 
and fly, feel the wind, 
love the sights from above, 
dream something real, something eternal, 
something as high as the highest of heights. 
My little bird does dream. 
When I open my eyes, 
I look out of my cage— 
the one I have built for myself 
over the years. 
I look out and see 
the same things, and the same people, 
I have the same chances, in the same spaces, 
I sing the same songs, and how my songs 
are sweet with longing and desire! 
I want to be free, 
and yet, 
unlike my little bird in his cage, 
I hold the keys to mine freedom. 
I peck at my accumulations 
of over my time, 
and yet, 
feel unsatisfied with everything 
within my reach. 
I want more, how I want to be free! 
How I would fly, soar high, 
higher than the highest of heights. 
How I would dream, unbound! 

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Photo by Ryan Miguel Capili from Pexels