When the melancholic evening,
Brings to her those delusions-
Of being at her nest-
Of being loved-
And cared with a delight…
She sighs and turns behind,
And to behold nothing-
But a broken string…
Attached to her wings!
In that pursuit-
Of crossing those limits…
Seldom had she thought…
She would be encaged forever…
When she cut her strings and flew-
Deluded she was- of being free!
When she clutches the bough-
And stares at this vastness…
That caged her spirit…
In this melancholic evening-
She sings no songs about being bold!
But- about those longings to be at home…
(c) Sanjeeta Sharma Pokharel "Hridayaninadini"
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