A lonely bird flew in a circle
It had wandered away from the others
Seeming tired and its face purple
It would have dreamed to soar high
Go miles to a land so far
With utter happiness and give a joyful cry
But somehow the bird chose to be distinct
It chose its own way
And flew trusting instinct
Looking at it,
I wondered where it would go
Will it surrender
Or get killed by a bow
I could feel the strain
Having gone through it first hand
I knew there was nothing to gain
I had chosen to be different like the bird
And now I wonder how to play the game
Because i know i have to do it All over again..
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