Freedom

There was a parakeet on my terrace -
Colourful, chatty, caged.
It looked not sad;
In fact, it looked content...
A little resigned perhaps.
So, a fine day in spring,
I thought I should set it free.
It cooed and cawed and,
Perched on my fist,
Towards freedom
We marched.
The sky was a frothy blue,
A heaven for avian flight;
And yet, on my fist,
The parakeet sat,
Gazing up,
Sans a flutter...
Until it dawned on me,
That freedom was a lesson,
My pet had yet to learn.
And I stood staring at my bird
Wondering when 'I' had lost my wings.