The hand written

The house is now almost full
With the hand written prose poems, monologues, thoughts,
All in the house

Like birds in the cages....
Dying to fly out...
Take a leap up-wards towards the sky
Instead of lying flat for so long
Worrying about...
What if ? What if ? wHAT IF ?
What if there is a fire in the house
And the birds will singe like the pieces of paper
And then turn into ashes...
"Dust to dust, ashes to ashes."

Whe said that ?
I don;t remeber...
But the point is being made by the birds...

Is there any one who can take my birds out of my house and take them on a flight ?

They need to travel a bit you know...
Go to Spain, to Qairo, to Beirut, to Istambul, to London and Paris and Florence...
There is a whole lot to see out-side this place

Who has rge key to the cage ?
Are you for the human rights of animals or birds ?
Any one who has the slightest concern for human rights should visit the cages...
Not many are concerned about the humans either
Who is going to free my birds ?

You, baby, you...Only you...
Sing to me, my beautiful bulbul, sing to me....

Would you sing to me Bulbul ?

No answer...
The Bulbul wants to go out into a beautiful garden...
And smell the smell of Jasmin first and breath a bit..
Get some sun on its feathers and warm up first...
Its been a long and a cold winter

But to day the sun is shining and its warming up...
Do you want to go out Bulbul ?

I will take you out today....

"Thats a lie." The Bulbul says,
'Thats a lie."
'You only take yourself out." Out for a coffee, out for a walk, to the theater, to a party."

I haven't gone to a party for so long.
:But you are going to a party tonight." The Bulbul says, "Take us with you tonight, we will sing at the party. After all we are the singing birds."