"My land has palm trees / Where the thrush sings...". But the thrush sings no more. All that left was an empty cage. The little jar with some water dirty with few grains of
birdseed and little feathers on the surface. A piece of wet bread left at the cage's corner. The still perch and the silence surrounding this scene. A so big empty as the empty
left in this cage.
We use to sing together. I started and you followed me.
Now I keep imagining if one day you ever knew how is the feeling of a long flight. To don't have space limitations imposed by those small bars. How we're unfair and selfish
persons to private a being, which has in its nature to be free, to know this freedom. Now I know that you're free. Not how I expected, but I hope you're happy wherever you are.
Singing another songs. I hope you remember me...