"My wings are closed...I cannot fly,"
She wrote before she plummeted,
A creature less of earth than sky,
A lark that bullies killed with stones,
She fell to earth, her music stilled,
A broken heap of shattered bones.
What gift like hers endures for long
Where ignorance flings stones at art,
And bullies put an end to song?
To choose to sing's an act of will;
She had to know instinctively
A singing bird's the first they kill.
Nadia Anjuman
Sem comentários:
Enviar um comentário