Rotten Fruits for the Birds

Unbelievably sweet is the taste
Rotten to the roots falling from mother’s arms
The first of the season and the last to live
I think it tastes like freedom feels
Sickeningly sweet and complex to describe
Like the bruise you get from a fight you won.
So the caged birds don’t like to eat it
Sometimes the landlord would grab the fruits
Maybe they were perfect before they fell into his hands
He holds the rotten little things and throw them
At the wild birds.
Like a bullet of too much living
Straight to the heads he aims then boom!
The wild birds are gone.
The sky would never know when will they return.
The farmers mourn the death of a life they dreamt,
The trees may never know it gave life to death,
The caged birds will do as they are told.
The landlord will never care about any of this.
Only the wind will busy itself burying the wild birds,
And her soft hands would dry the red rivers.
Then she will roar to the sky,
That a small speck of freedom is gone,
That too much sweetness left
A bitter taste on the world’s dry lips
Tomorrow it will wash away and no one will remember.
But trees will grow, fruits will fall,
While the farmers dream,
The wild birds; land again.