I am that wingless thought dormant in time,
Formed in the calyx of dreams,
Stemming towards a sutured horizon,
nestled beyond madness.
An embolism of archaic nature,
Paralyzing humanity in its track,
I am the minister of urban progression,
Incarcerated in an erosive coastline.
Freedom I say!
As I reach for a sentry star,
An apogee of civilization,
reigning the evening sky.
Birds of all feathers flock tonight,
Thralls to libertarian flight,
Hardly a chasm of society,
Could stop this manifesting silhouette.
Where have my seagulls gone,
My Ravens and buzzards too,
I care to have a robin sing,
Perched atop a steepled barn.
A jaybird in spring,
A Woodpecker divine,
sprinting cross pristine forests,
Fussing over seeds.
Open your eyes son,
Your gates and moats too,
Gentrify your ideals,
And fly just fly away.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem