Upon a sheer cliff I stood, gazing upon the spacious world below.
In the distant, so faraway, my eyes could faintly see,
The salty-scented deep-blue seas.
Concrete structures, buildings and houses,
The stone and bricks stop
At fern and forest-green treetops.
Olive and moss, sometimes gold,
The colour of grass a silent plea
For a spring not yet to be.
Are you going to jump?
The wind whispered cautiously.
“No!,” I retorted, “I just want to be free,
To grow wings and to fly into the vast skies.
To be free of this cage, and
To write my life’s new page.”
I can’t do that.
You’re merely human,
Flying is but an illusion.
I returned once more,
To the cliff where I’d takeoff.
I come here often,
But today I was greeted with less caution.
Something has changed,
It almost feels strange.
Without a word, I advanced,
With a skip, almost like a prance.
Wha-?! The wind almost screamed,
Yet stopped, at the sight of an almost-dream.
Wings? On a human? What absurdity!
I looked back with a grin filled with untamed glee.
“See, I figured it out – the cage was imagined,
And in the same way, I can craft my wings from within.
I lived in the past, shackled and burdened – I couldn’t forgive me.
Today, that stops. I can make my own wings and takeoff. Finally free.”