The plane (poem)

The plane came flying,
Hanging between two worlds,
Like I hung
Between freedom and solitude.

The plane carried with it
a heavy residue
From winds singing to it
Their strange songs,
Their speechless songs,
Their songs of emptiness,
Their songs of freedom,
The freedom I gave up
Subduing myself to life’s meticulous design
So that one day I too
could be be a bird
Flying within the metallic shell,
Hanging between two worlds,
Between heat and cold,
Between sorrow and happiness,
Between riches and poverty,
Destined forever condemned to one side
with just the dust of the residue
on my fingertips.
They touched
the stone cold glossy surface
as I disembarked.

Dust, nothing more, was the memory
That I was once a bird,
That I was once free,
That once I had a choice.

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