A caged bird cannot pick blossom from the tree nor catch worms from the soil.

I am a human being who is like a caged bird.

I am locked behind steel bars in a prison cell where I am forced against my will to live in subhuman bondage.

The only belongings I have in my possession in this five by ten prison cell are: a little pisspot, a small enamel mug full of chips, a bar of carbolic soap, a broken toothbrush, a teethless comb, a pinch of salt that I use as toothpaste, an old worn out pair of slippers, some torn magazines, and a stick of crayon that I use to draw and colour portraits of faces and various places that I see in my vision.

They say prison is not a bed of roses and because I spread my bed rough the treatment must be rougher than rough
and tougher than tough
and I have myself to blame
and no one else.

The constant smell of jaise and disinfectant sprinkled all over the flipping place clearly reminds me that the interior of this place is full of bacteria that does not meet the criterion of proper hygiene.

The mess in this place makes me want to hate. Right now my mind is not in the best of states because of that, my mind imagine confusing things, my eyes are seeing strange sights, and my inmost being knows no joy.

Sometimes I stare through the steel bars of my cell to look at the cats, the rats, and the roaches struggling desperately for food to survive just as how I am fighting to stay alive in this human cage.

Sometimes I want to squeal but because of my zeal I do not squeal.

Locked away behind steel bars in a prison cell for so many wasted years where I am forced against my will to live in subhuman bondage makes me realize that there are some things I am longing for.

I am longing for a woman's love and her tender touch
I am longing for compassion
I am longing for a healthy condition and proper nutrition.

This situation makes me understand why the caged man has the passion for liberation.

By Byron Skitta Mesquita