Requiem for a Homing Bird

In the absence of sensory fulfilment, we covet the warmth of the distant hearts, sands and oceans apart, as we stare into the void of our own reflections in concrete walls and matt black doors, silencing our breath and stifling our dreams, while our minds get high on streams of words and scrambled cries of exiles; searching for a home they’ll never find, in a land that’s never theirs.

H.Q.
11:03
Sunday, 17/03/2013