Hello. I'm a mallard. Unlike a domestic duck, I can fly.
I've been to the City of Music, City of Water, and the City of Literature.
I've been to Leeds, and the Isles of Greece. I sipped champagne on a ship.
I've been to Paradise too,
but I've never been to me.
Look at those ducks. They are very, very well-fed. They are fat. They can't fly since the very beginning. But what next? Slaughter. Bloodshed. And various dishes on table for people to
enjoy.
Once you've seen all kinds of beauties outside, you just can't bear the confinement in the cage any more, even if it's fully supplied with food and warmth. I just want to fly away. I haven't seen enough. I want more. But how the hell can I escape from it by myself?
After all, I'm just a bird. The cage is made of hard metal. When I'm kept in it, I can fly but I can't fly.
I'm so small. My power is weak.
Yet my desire is huge.
And it brings sorrow.
Why did you come back to the cage in the first place?
A cage is always a cage, no matter how big it is, how sufficient of food in it, how many companions beside, it is still a cage, designated as a hindrance to your movement, your potential, your life.
Birds are not the most intelligent animals, are they?
Posted via email from Parsley, Sage, Rosemary and Thyme
