I often think of flying on a bird's eye view 
Spread my nimble wings over
A mighty wind that will impel me above
fields of rioting green—
unseen from the cages—my flaps are
used to fidgeting in—a bird's eye view over
a golden sunset under a gentle breeze
with no flinging of sorts but the release of
all my earthly sorrows—does 
a bird experience grief 500 above 
the ground where no soil or 
mud can be found,
to bury all the worms/ache I have swallowed
to live? 
I often think of flying on a bird's eye view
I've given everything I could give
I do not want to go back
to see/look at the empty homes and broken nests  
Just this once, I want to 
breathe in the air to look
and to see 
with my eyes (that don't reek of death)
to feel the tug in my throat
taking flight like the yearning
inside of me—
to live 
and (not) watch the world set itself on fire 
from the clear blue skies above

A.M. Fahad is an aspiring poet and writer from Dhaka. He uses vivid imagery and elements of nature to encapsulate his emotions with words, which often end up in a thought train rather than a conclusion. Find him at amfahad1747@gmail.com.