Pigeons Poem by Charl JF Cilliers

Even when I was a child
my pigeons were there
in their loft and in the air
as much a part of me
as love in my heart could ever be
pigeons that flew
at dawn and noon and dusk, wild
and free, unfenced-in by blue
and cloud-flecked sky.

And when they were set free
it was as if the door that I
had opened had been opened in me.

Each day they would wait
with eager gurglings in their throats,
wordless, yet able to communicate
by restless gestures, bubbling notes
of desire for freedom in sure circles of flight:
intricate, adventurous, held by some
tether invisible yet tight
and true that bound them always to
that tiny cage, that earthly home.