The prompt for a recent swap-bot challenge was Birdcage. I wasn't really sure what direction I was going to take with this, but the more I thought about it the more I remembered how much I just don't care for birds in cages. There's something so sad about it.
As a kid, we had birds. My mom had strawberry finches that she brought back from the Philippines. Those little birds lived in California, Maryland and finally, by the time we reached Panama three years later, only one remained. We called him "Little Left Behind".
Later, we had a green parakeet who's name was Blinky because he was blind in one eye. Blinky would bark like a big dog whenever the garbage man came down the drive and that poor man was always afraid of being bitten by that "dog". (Another time I'll tell you the story for the coral snake head in the trashcan. I think that finally pushed him completely over the edge.)
I re-read Maya Angelou's poem I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings. I'm certain I read it in college, but it has been a very long time. I forget about the power of poetry. I don't read enough of it and I'm going to rectify that by reading more. If you haven't read it or, like me, it's been a while, here it is:
I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings
The free bird leaps
on the back of the wind
and floats downstream
till the current ends
and dips his wings
in the orange sun rays
and dares to claim the sky.
But a bird that stalks
down his narrow cage
can seldom see through
his bars of rage
his wings are clipped and
his feet are tied
so he opens his throat to sing.
The caged bird sings
with fearful trill
of the things unknown
but longed for still
and his tune is heard
on the distant hill for the caged bird
sings of freedom
The free bird thinks of another breeze
and the trade winds soft through the sighing trees
and the fat worms waiting on a dawn-bright lawn
and he names the sky his own.
But a caged bird stands on the grave of dreams
his shadow shouts on a nightmare scream
his wings are clipped and his feet are tied
so he opens his throat to sing
The caged bird sings
with a fearful trill
of things unknown
but longed for still
and his tune is heard
on the distant hill
for the caged bird
sings of freedom.
I know! Wow! Right? This poem just breaks my heart.
This ATC is on it's way to Lithuania. I enclosed a copy of the poem in the envelope along with a Google translation of the poem to Lithuanian. I'm not sure how accurate those are, but it was worth a shot.
