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The Flight

The bird of my heart ,
yearns to take the flight
that would lead it to a cold distant land where for sure it would find the warmth .
The warmth of filial love that doesn't let it rest.
What a pity ! more than chirping
it whimpers, it whispers because flight towards east side is its only behest.
Since the bird of my heart longs to capture that image with open wide eyes , 
Which is round the clock painted on its soul or conscience.
Alas! The bird of my heart has turned stiff as a stone ,
Unwilling to accept that the poor heart's yearned desire isn't going to taste the light of reality in time nearby.
It has to wait and watch,
Till the time is ripe when either it would fly or cool gust would blow to quench its thirst for sure from  the east side.
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