If Wings Are Meant To Fly
The thought of flying ignites the inner fire,
what are these wings for?
To be caught staring at the cloud is frightening,
Isn’t birds are for the sky?
How freedom becomes pricey?
Why it has to cost too much?
When this birds wants nothing but horizon,
Is that too hard to understand?
Each day I wake up in irony,
and what it means to be common.
Tell me what are these wings for,
If they are not meant to fly.
The Pearl of The Orient,