Saturday, October 22, 2005


I am a bird,
one of the species which lives in cages.
My father lives in a cage,
so does my mother.
And so does everyone who looks like me.
But what use my wings, if I can't fly?
And to be fed by strange fingers,
whenever they want to feed me,
and not when I am hungry?
To be looked at by strange pairs of eyes,
even when you want to be alone?
And to be released from the cage,
when your wings are no longer strong?

No, no, no. Not my scene.
"If you want to be in the cage,"
I told the rest of my lot,
"be there. Count me out.
I am going to use my wings
and fly above the skyscrapers."
What are the fruits on the trees for?
And the breads left over
in the balconies of the skyscrapers?

Life was bliss:
eating fresh fruits
and the half-eaten breads,
sitting on the branches,
and coiled in the warmth of balconies.
Ten years passed.
Ten happy years.

Reality struck one day:
fruits had become half-eaten
and half-eaten breads disappearing.
The younger birds
devouring them all!
"Why don't you go to cages,"
I asked them,
"and lead happy lives?"
They thumbed their beaks
and told me,
"Why don't you?"

Why don't I?
Why didn't I?
Because I wanted freedom.
And where is the freedom?
It came with an expiry date.
I didn't know that: my fault.
Now I am looking for a cage,
where strange hands will feed me
and admire whatever is left of me
and wipe me when I am wet.

The cages I want to go to
are either occupied
or don't want an occupant.
Some want an occupant,
"but not right now," they say.
What do I do now?
Walk into any cage that is empty,
and risk my wings chopped?
Or keep sitting on the branches,
braving the sun and the rain?


kammommy said...

Wow! Believe me, it's all the same being in the cage or out of it. Before I was married, I was scared that I'll end up like one of the old maids in the stinking one bed room apartment with a million cats. Now with a baby , groggy and overworked, I want a room of my own and a million cats. See my point? The damn grass is always greener......

Jo said...

really thought provoking i would say..all my cosy gal friends tell me over tea that i am a fool talking about being a spinster but i echo u r views.
but maybe one time or the other...a cage...a warm comforting one....a solace....

mouna said...

hey nice stuff!!! seriously.....btw..i like u'r articles in the express a li'l too much....why don't u write often...once in a week on a sunday is rare....

About Health Blog said...

And to be released from the cage,
when your wings are no longer strong.