Birds are innocent.
They fly from place to place.
In search of peace and happiness.
Like everyone else.
I wish I had wings.
Flying everywhere and roaming here and there.
All the places and somewhere else.
Their life is like ours.
Like a day of 24 hours.
And a time of few hours.
Birds are hunted for nothing else.
Hunters have them for something else.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem