prime flower
a bird that doesn’t fly,
even when the cage is left open.
It used to try to fly away.
But trying turned to trembling,
and trembling turned to stillness.
Now, the mere sight of the sky,
makes its wings ache from memory.
Maybe it doesn’t realize the cage is open.
Maybe it doesn’t want to leave.
Maybe it’s given up.
Or maybe the ones who built the cage,
etched warnings into the bars–
taught it to fear the sky
by whispering to it
again and again,
“The sky will break you.”
They gave it a stick, carved like a key,
Gold-painted. Splintered.
“This is your freedom,” they said.
But the key never quite fit the lock.
Never opened anything –
but it held the weight of
all the hope the bird had in it.
They hung mirrors on the bars,
not for reflection,
so the bird wouldn’t feel alone —
“You have yourself. That is enough.”
They celebrated its resilience.
They dressed the floor in stardust,
painted the bars to mimic the sky,
and sang sweet, mind-numbing songs
to mimic the wind.
They said it should be grateful
for the life it was born into –
not the one it was born for.
It should be grateful for a life with sparkle,
even if that life was one without a sky.
Sometimes, they’d let it stretch its wings,
circle the room once, maybe twice,
before, dull scissors
cut the air from its wings.
Just enough flight
to miss the wind.
Just enough silence
to confuse with peace.
Just enough freedom,
to stay grateful.
They promised,
“Eventually, we’ll set you free.”
But the bird feared
eventually would never come,
and it never did.
So, there’s this bird, trapped in a cage,
not because the cage is closed –
but because the sky is now too
unfamiliar.
Because the sky, feels like a place
it no longer belongs.
It does not sing.
It does not stir.
It doesn’t dream.
It does not remember it’s purpose,
that it was born to fly.
hasty vault