From his tiny place
He steps into a larger space.
Tells his face
He finds it nice
The blinding slice!
In that luminous relief
Of smoked glass and concrete
Is confirmed his belief
Freedom is sweet
Even an illusory one!
Before he’s back to the night
He must bite as much of it.
Must harvest to the full that walled flight
Store every bit of it
And never let that brief dreamy light
Go out of sight.
Pradip Chattopadhyay
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/flight-62/
