We long to be free, to be the masters
of our doing, to beat our own wings
against the blue skies
and the stormy ones too.
Trapped, imprisoned by these four
walls, we rage and wait, wait
although we don’t know what for
And when it’s granted we hesitate
wings outstretched against the sun
reluctant to claim something
longed for and dreamed of.
But we will fly again
we will soar against the blue
skies and fall too, as if
our wings never stopped moving
And our feet never touched the ground.