The old wooden windows did not compromise with the night’s cold wind.
The room was warm contrasting with the chilly breeze that blew outside
Like the border between a wealthy superpower and its not-so-fortunate neighbor
With the thin square frames functioning like the towering border wall.
The dark gray clouds swallowing the stained moon whole
Was the last image seen before my drowsy eyes shut for sure
And sank to the depths of the dream world where time and the dimensions,
The precise definers of the directions for life’s any journey are unknown.
And suddenly there was chaos everywhere.
“Free the birds,” the surrounding echoed multiple times with a single chant,
As groups of men and women, both young and old, some carrying
Empty bird cages in their hands and others dressed up as birds themselves
Marched through the streets creating a daunting giant silhouette
As trifling flocks joined together forming large masses, growing wings
As they passed by, lifting up in the air with every step placed forward
And falling back to the ground frowning, cursing their heavy heads,
Then regrouping themselves for another attempt to take off,
Their momentary gift symbolizing their clients’ generations of instinct.
When an emerald parakeet in all its elegance and glory proclaimed,
“Ye can’t put me behind bars for no reason. I am not even black” in an authoritative voice,
I woke up frantically and checked the time. It was the middle of the night,
And two blood-thirsty eyes that I loved to watch glow in the sun’s golden rays
Were staring at me from behind cold steel bars without a blink.