What is it like to fly?

I always wonder that.

To fly free

Through the air.

To be free from the hatred,

That haunts the humans.

To be free to be my own self,

Not to be influenced by others.

What is it like to fly?

To soar efortlessly

On the thermals?

To fly away from the "Law of Gravity"

That binds the humans to the Earth?

I wonder.

I wonder about flying,

Flying with wings

Made of feathers.

You can ask the eagle,

And still you'll wonder.

You can ask the hawk,

And still not know.

You can ask the owl,

But you'll get no answer.

For the birds,

They don't understand us.

We are the ones

That live on the ground.

We are the masters

Of all that walks.

The birds are the ones,

That live in the sky.

The birds are the masters

Of all that flies.

We are separated

By a vast degree.

We are the ground,

They are the sky.

But again I wonder,

What is it like to fly?

To soar, to dive?

Again I ask,

What is it like to fly?