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Bird in the Cage


I am this lousy bird kept in a cage.  This man who calls himself Swatantrananda Baba trapped me some time ago and put me in this cage. 

“See how beautiful my Indian Ringneck Parrot is!”  Swatantrananda Baba introduces me to his very important guests.  I didn’t know I had a nationality until my captor gave me one.  What does Indian mean to me?  Do my wings care for borders and fences? What do names mean to me?

The Baba gave me a nationality and a cage in addition to a name.  And he taught me some slogans.  I forgot my natural music.  The melody of the mountain pines and the orchestra of the brooks were part of my music earlier.  Now I chant some mantras that make no sense to me.  But the mantras have replaced my erstwhile symphonies learnt from the tree nymphs and celestial fairies.  Sitting in this lousy cage, sipping milk and chewing synthetic grains, I am unable to listen to the orchestra of the cosmos.  I have learnt to chant slogans.  Empty slogans.

My wings long to fly.  Wings are not meant for cages.  But Baba’s love has borders and fences.  So I am destined to live in this cage with atrophying wings.

I long to fly.  Beyond borders and fences.  I long to sing.  The songs of the dryads and sprites.  I long to wing in the heavens. 


 
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