As a bird feathered by blood

Dreams of skies,

Yearns to fly,

Soar high,

Break the chain,

Wipe away the wallowing pain

Shout out:

I’m alive,

I’m free,

I cry…

Heavy it is to be free,

And it is not easy to be.

Scars still hurt,

Agony still beats,

Grief still feeds on my heart.

Memories erode my mind.

Why was my beloved killed without remorse?

I couldn’t fly,

Nor escape the sly,

Nor snatch my grandmother as she died.

I couldn’t resuscitate,

Nor mitigate

What she felt

Before being killed,

Or even hold her hands to whisper:

“Don’t fear, I’m here.”

I keep asking why,

Why wasn’t I killed

Instead?

Heavy is being free;

It doesn’t matter anymore to flee.

What a curse!

Is it a grace

To be free with clipped wings,

Drenched in bloodbaths,

Tarnished by death,

Squashed by hunger,

Haunted by horror,

Nightmares,

And echoes of farewell screams?

Maybe, I still want to be

FREE

In life,

Or like a bird,

In heaven.