The turquoise sky was a prompt to fly
tempted her to perch on high
from there a world she could descry
But something happened last night
last night her soul died,
In the name of norms she’s crucified
her voice is mute and flight is stopped
now she will sing and fly no more
She wanted wings
the special things
like the notes of lark which always sings
but she will fly no more
She loved the smell and feel of rains
as sick of summers she wished to wear the robe of clouds
and dance the steps of mild and tender downpour
though vales and dales will wait for her
but she will dance no more
and you know what!
pseudo-norms are a crashing engine
What if she sings and lives no more
Her wings are clipped, her flight is checked
(at least the norms of clan are kept.)
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