The Caged Bird

She's locked in the cage, I'm roaming freely in this world,

As the distance grows steadily, I pine for her word,

Straining hard my ears, to pick her faintest sound,

Eager to return home, relieved that she's still around.

She's bound in a cage, I'm bound to her,

Have to return before noon, there's no time to err,

Have to feed her on time, ensure shade from light,

By caring for her deeply, make the cage feel right.

She's tiny and weak, which justifies the cage,

I'll have to eventually release- the thought fills me with rage.

It's a wild world out there, where lurk predators and friends,

No matter how I get attached, there's only one way this ends. 

I'll be a prisoner of her memories, for me, no turning page,

She'll roam freely in the world, while I'll be locked in this cage.

Why I Write?

I write because I can make words dance, on tunes that are faint, unheard,

I have delusions that generations to come, will croon on my every word.

They'll dissect me bare and try to discern, what I meant with that play of words,

How my themes blended the vastness of the sky, with the misery of the caged birds.

 

I write because I get goosebumps, on coming up with a turn of phrase,

While drowning in the word salad, can pierce to the heart of the maze.

Enthralled by the beauty that words can paint, that silences but reinforce,

I make art daily as a duty to the world, as a therapy I wholeheartedly endorse.

 

I write because I can throw a light, and hold a mirror to the times,

Cut to the chase like no one can, though there will always be poets a dime.

Reveal not the specifics of this milieu, but what is enduring and surely true of ages,

Of how since the time immemorial, we have been singing of the skies from our cages.

 

I write because I can create magic, make you new possibilities see,

Spark a revolution, dismantle the cage, and set the birds free.

I Know Why The Trapped Fish Shines

A question that haunts me, day and night, 

Can I escape this world, of aqua and white? 

Should I stay content, and never roam, 

Or fulfill my yearning, for seas unknown?

 

But what if I am set, accidentally free, 

Can I find my route, towards the vast sea? 

My fins are weak, and though I daily pined, 

I was limited to this tank, have remained confined.

 

The dream of freedom, a current I chase, 

But this tank is my only, safe and familiar place. 

The weight of this dream, is pulling me down, 

I keep swimming in circles, and live without renown.

 

Today, however,  I saw in the aquarium's glass,

That I'm shiny and golden and of a different class.

PS: This was written in conjunction with chatGPT. I asked chatGPT to convert the poem 'Setting the Birdie Free' to fish from bird and then played around with the output and refined it a lot.

Setting the Birdie Free

Caged from birth, can I fly?

Is a real question- Zero reasons why, 

I should be smug, and venture into the wild, 

Are my feathers strong, I've been limited as a child!

Even if you were, to set me free,

Would I be able, to climb the tree?

You've irreparably damaged, broken me for life,

Cant even escape this life- in the cage no thorn or knife!

Freedom to fly, is a mirage I chase,

This cage has become, my comforting safe space, 

The weight of that dream, is crushing me down,  

Going through the motions- on my existence I frown!

Today however, I set the birdie free,

Realized I could sing, pour my heart, and just be!!

Birds and Happiness

Cuckoo or crow doesn't matter, surround yourself with birds, 

Experience bliss and happiness, that is beyond money or words. 

So says a new science study, and I count my blessings twice,

Each morning and each evening, as I place in the bowl some rice. 

There are countless species around me, and I'm happy as a lark,

There are even some Siberian cranes, who flew over oceans dark.

Why do they keep returning, each year is a mystery deep,

How do they know I'll be there, and why do they take the leap?

 

For I'm whimsical and capricious, mesmerized by the birds afar,

Pining for what is out of bounds, and for grapes that are sour.

I dream one day of being with the bird, face to face in the foreign land,

Invite her to an all-you-can-eat, and finally, at last, my hunger will end.

You left the shore, eons ago, or so it feels to me,

Sans you, what joy, what bliss to boot- let dozen species be!

Can I ?

Can I churn out, a sonnet each day,

When it becomes a chore, will the sensitivity stay?

Will I write in a hurry, to meet the day's goal,

Getting the rhyme right, but losing the poem's soul?

 

Can I find themes other, than the usual love and pain,

By moving out of my comfort zone, what will I gain? 

Will the imagery be novel, not limited to caged birds singing

Will my poems soothe and heal, with just a dash of singeing? 

Can I keep her hooked, eagerly waiting for the next,

Or bombarded by so many, she might just not read my text?

With my daily pledge of love, would my chances go above zero,

If I keep writing till she relents, can I hope to be her hero?

A new year resolution, that only lasts till spring,

I'm wiser this time, settling for a 90 days sprint.

 

Why dont I touch thee

Touch me not (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

This may be seen as second part or continuation or new spin on  You can see, but mustn't touch.

Why don't I touch thee, let me count the ways;
I don't touch thee for sound reasons; pray, hear my case;
You are like a body of still water, that is clam, deep and godsend,
my touch will disturb and perturb you, with ripples that never end.

You are like a statuette of soft, but impressionist clay; perfect and untouched you're meant to be,
my touch will distort and disfigure you, with the impressions of an imbecile for all to see.  
you are like a gem that is crystalline and pure; delicate, shining and untainted,
my impure touch will stain you forever, with one of your facets now painted.

You are like a house of cards, that's just standing; each supporting the other -steady and fast,
my touch will crumble that composure, as you shatter under the weight of the memories past. 
You are like a touch-me-not flower, that's delicate, tempting and forbidden equal parts,
my touch will make you wither or shrink, and go forever in a shell, breaking many hearts.

but the forever reason I don't touch thee, I fear you are an illusion or a dream forlorn,
and my touching will make you disappear again, with me and my burnt fingers alone. 

The last link (persona non-grata part 2)

Image via Wikipedia
you can get rid of triggers, can the memories themselves be shelved?
you can turn a heart to stone, what about the emotions that once swelled?
you can destroy the cage where the bird once dwelt; or erase the songs that were taped;
you can destroy all evidence, break free from chains,  but isn't it the striving that's really caged?

you may deny from yourself, you may sincerely believe,
what happened in the past was a big make-believe,
but what is happening now, is just act 1, part 2,
was the deception not enough that we have to now make-do?

and pretend that our paths never crossed in this life,
after all nothings more precious - that being a man and wife;
and that we couldn't be, so let the friendship be damned,
even a past crossing of paths has to be erased and banned?

unfriending is oh so cool, I hope you've thought through
Twitter and Facebook was fine, but LinkedIn too?