The little bird alone
in the rusting cage,
hums a monotone
filled with boiling rage.
Hates the strange world
in which she is around,
as her throat hurls
an uneasy, painful sound.
Her chirps duly break
the silence of dead night,
and till the daybreak
she continues to fight.
Her fight with her captor
is a one-sided affair-
struggling and even after
she is going nowhere.
She craves for her past
(to achieve at any rate),
the good old days
with her nest on arête.
She hits the iron bars,
whole day and in night,
with bloodstained wings
in a hope that they might
fall before her,
not because of her strength,
but seeing her will,
may be they will.
