The Silence Between Bars

The world teaches us

that freedom is a privilege,

parceling out the sky

as though the clouds were owned.

A bird in a wire cage

does not forget the wind—

her wings still twitch at night,

remembering currents

she never touched.

The calf, torn from his mother,

cries until his throat

is raw with memory.

They say he forgets—

but grief is not so merciful.

And we—

creatures with power to choose—

stand at the threshold.

Will we bind the earth tighter,

or unclasp the rusting lock,

let silence break

into song?

Because freedom

is not a privilege.

It is a birthright—

for every feather,

every heartbeat,

every soul.