Places.
Hovered on
Dreamy lands..
Thoughts took
A shape.
A Blue Bird
Was born.
It grew wings.
Was meant to
Fly high..
...
But my throat
Is a graveyard
Where words
Often die.
A standstill.
Fluttered wings.
Poked my mind.
And hit
Some walls.
A frustration
Set in.
Each day an
Attempt was made.
But how do
You make..
A Dumb person
Talk?
A pen
With a paper
Was such a
Plan!
And at the
Behest of
Ink trails,
Emancipation came.
Thoughts flew
Off my brains.
Peace is just
Another bird.
Poem is a flight.
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