Borrowed wings

Borrowed Wings

There are lives
that slowly become
smaller.

Not all at once.
Not with thunder.
But quietly...
until the walls
begin to feel
like home.

A smile
learns to ask permission.
A dream
learns to wait.

Even joy
starts apologizing
for taking up space.

Some evenings,
laughter
drifts in through an open window,
carried by voices
that sound
like freedom.

Glasses raised.
Memories made.
Life,
being lived.

And somewhere,
behind another window,
someone wonders
what it must feel like
to belong
to the wind.

Some birds
forget
they were ever meant
to fly.

Not because
their wings disappeared...
but because
they grew used
to the weight
of invisible strings.

There are cages
that have no bars.
Only habits.
Only silence.
Only the quiet belief
that the sky
belongs
to someone else.

Yet every dawn
arrives
with the same question...

What if these wings
were never borrowed?

What if they were mine
all along?

Perhaps freedom
doesn't begin
the day
the cage is opened.

Perhaps
it begins
the moment
the bird
remembers
the sky. 

- Merry -