Little bird

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The lonely bird. I feel related to him sitting there by himself. Sometimes alone sometimes in a flock much like me hopping from place to place. I envy his freedom thought. His wings taking him everywhere at any time. Although I can’t complain I go wherever I please.

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Like the bird sitting on that string my mind wonders off. It’s a chilly June day. Spring is having a hard time joining us this year. My little friend shakes his wings getting the last drops of water off. And while our looks cross the train I’m on, continues its journey. A journey in a highly divided country between people who are the same and yet feel so different.

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Fly bird fly. To a far away place where freedom feels so close. Where freedom can be screamed out of your tiny lungs. Where freedom is evident, where the sun shines high, warm and long. Where breathing is automatic. Despite you have it all little bird, a cosy nest, a family, you are never happy. You crave more. You crave what you saw experienced during your migration. The sunny side offered you so much more. Although you’ll never stop you’ll never let anyone tell you where you should go. You just go. You take off. Free. As Free as a bird. Fly off to the horizon.

 

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