Gunmen are in a cage of guns
Bards in that of words
Newsmen in that of scoops
Musicians in that of notes
Professors in that of books
Workers in that of machines
Ibobi in that of money
Butchers in that of meat
Neighbours in that of gossips
Sex workers in that of genitals
Believers in that of gods
Tailors in that of threads

Let me be nothing
And fly away freely
And then I hear the music
The crooner, seemingly sneering,
Singing “Even the birds are chained to the sky.”

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