Liberation

The window slot—open, shut—
holds a sparrow,
frozen mid-flight,
its wings caught
in the machinery of motion.
 
Those who are caged—
who wrote their fate?
What devil’s script,
what trick of destiny
painted spring in blood,
hardened the paddy fields?
 
Chains must be broken—
the wind is wild with strength.
Let it remain,
even in the blink of sightless eyes.
 
A splash of water
soaks the feathers.
Tell your conscience—
I will not lose
the map to you.
 
However strong the gears of the machine,
I will find the old mark again.
Wherever you are,
whatever tears you shed,
I will cross that narrow bridge with you.
 
They want me—
they want you too.
Civilization demands human sacrifice,
but the bird still wants to fly.
 
In this locked prison of Kansa,
Vasudeva weeps.
The barrier is broken
for the sake of human nature,
yet blood and mud cry all around.
 
My gaze slips past it,
to the delta of freedom—
far away,
beyond the narrow slot,
the bird flies out,
leaving behind
the safe prison of home
for the wide, unmeasured city.