I'm not belong to church with
gloomy eyes.
My wings lost its sheen.
I'm the slave of freedom.
Noise is wandering on the street and
prosperity is floating on the surface.
I was born a puppet.
Those noble people
think raising could compensate their sins.
I have that freedom
which are whole they could give.
I'm lingering over the small space,
looking for the existence of life.
You are appreciating me.
I'm also staring at you.
So who is a prisoner of whom?
white dove
