Dead Dawn

I miss the day when our lungs were still young
When we could breathe air without having doubts
When the sky was plain blue and white
And we could take a free fall for folding our fragile wings

I miss the day when no eyes became our snares
When no caws hold our flight,
When freedom was true up in the air,
And not fake and down the ground

When the trees were the sight, not the ones who covers the view
When they gather with the celestial colors as one
When the colors of different territories were one
When stupid quarrels was too far to be within our reach

Now my wings are cut
And my eyes are gouged
But still I see and in my mind fly
To the infant days of life
Where my guardian angel's name was joy, not death...