A silent within me echoed

🌙 The Caged Bird Inside Me 🌙

✨ 

He feels like a bird in a cage,

bound by unbreakable shackles,

circling and circling, searching

for a way out into freedom—

yet unable to escape

that invisible emotional prison.

And my voice—

silent, powerless in a masterful way—

witnessed him there.

A small bird trembling in the dark,

its wings beating desperately

against cold iron bars,

its eyes overflowing

with longing for the sky.

I saw him.

I felt him.

For he is the echo

of the freedom I have not yet touched.

…..

Se  siente como un pajaro enjaulado pero atado por grilletes impacables circulan Buscando Una salida a la libertad pero no puede escapar de esa prision emocional 

Mi voz se siente impotente de forma magistral. Creo que realmente vi a ese pájaro encerrado en una jaula: sus alas golpeaban desesperadamente los barrotes de hierro, y sus ojos estaban llenos de anhelos de libertad.”

🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹💕💕💕🌹🌹

✨ When Wings Remember Freedom ✨

He feels like a captive bird,

locked in a gilded cage,

his feet chained by relentless iron,

circling the narrow sky he’s been given,

yearning for the one he cannot reach.

My voice stands helpless,

a soft echo against the silence,

watching him struggle—

a fragile heartbeat with feathers.

His wings strike the bars

with the fury of forgotten dreams,

and his eyes, trembling with light,

are oceans of longing

for a sky that once was his home.

I saw him—

and in him,

I saw the part of me

that still remembers how to fly.

…..

🌑 The Bird That Carried My Silence 🌑

He feels like a bird carved from sorrow,

trapped inside a narrow cage where

the air itself feels borrowed.

Heavy shackles cling to his small feet—

merciless, cold, unyielding—

and he circles inside that tiny world,

searching for freedom

in a sky he can no longer touch.

My voice becomes a whisper,

a delicate helpless thing,

watching him from the shadows

as his wings strike the iron bars

with a desperation so fierce

it folds the soul in half.

His eyes shimmer—

not with tears,

but with the pure ache of longing,

a longing that glows like a lantern

in a place where light should not exist.

I saw him.

And in that trembling creature

I recognized my own captivity—

the echo of a heart that remembers flight

but has forgotten the way out.

………..

📖 Chapter VII — The Bird and the Silence 📖

He moved through his own mind the way a wounded bird circles a shrinking cage—

slowly, carefully, yet with an urgency that could not be named.

The room around him felt distant, unreal, but the chains on his feet

were unmistakably present:

cold, merciless, and forged from the very memories he wished he could escape.

He was a creature built from longing.

Every breath he took trembled like feathers caught in a storm.

His wings—fragile, trembling, relentless—beat against the iron bars

as though he believed that hope, if struck hard enough,

might finally crack the metal.

But the bars did not bend.

They only echoed.

And in that echo lived a truth too heavy for ordinary hearts.

My voice, by then, had become something fragile—

not broken, but hushed into reverence.

There was no power in it, no thunder or command.

Only a soft, helpless whisper that hovered in the air

like a prayer spoken too late.

From where I stood,

I could see the reflection of his dreams

pressed against the cruel geometry of the cage.

His eyes carried entire worlds inside them—

oceans of aching light,

landscapes of freedom he remembered

but could no longer reach.

And though he was small,

there was something vast about him.

Something ancient,

as if the longing inside his chest

had lived a thousand lives

and still refused to die.

It was then that I understood:

I was not simply watching a trapped bird.

I was witnessing a confession

carved in feathers and silence.

He was me.

Or perhaps,

he was the part of me

I had abandoned in the dark

and hoped would survive without me.

The part that once knew how to fly.

I stepped closer to the cage—

not to open it,

for I did not yet know how,

but to acknowledge the truth

that we had been imprisoned together.

Two hearts,

one made of feathers

and the other of voice,

beating quietly

in the same narrow space.

And in that moment,

the world outside disappeared—

and all that remained

was the sound of wings

remembering the sky.