I yawn and adjust myself to a more comfortable stance on this plain, unfamiliar stick across my cage, while my eyes scan for a curious customer who would want this grey, feathery parrot, catching nothing but the usual nothingness. So, I guess, drifting off to sleep for a few other hours would be considerably good in this boring morning, no need to stay awake and sing around like a clown to the audiences. But that's if only the radio can't deafen my ears.

Give me love, give me love

Give me peace on Earth

I hate it here, the cage blocking my freedom and my view, the little fake branch that makes standing nauseous, the portion of smashed fruit I got every day, the unnatural atmosphere of work and city, this song that is repeated again and again, and a few months won't make me familiar with this weirdness. Remember when I was with mum and my siblings, deep in the green of the African forests, we often flew between the branches, then collect fresh, delicious fruit for our happy meals, and mimic some funny sounds we found men saying.

Give me light, give me life

Keep me free from birth

And one day we were caught into small, metal cages, and our wings, our pride, were clipped like a toy. Black men, their brows knitted like wool and their hands clanged to strange black sticks. I don't know where my family are now, probably in capture and pet stores for useless displays like me, but ever since the long journey over the seas I've been bored dead here, waiting for somebody to return me, if not to my soothing homeland nature, to love. But miracles like that rarely happens in this place, this time. To humans, animals are just owned belongings that they can garbage or broke whenever their interest is gone, or substances that people can harvest and make use of, like food. Whatever happened to my mum and me proved so.

Give me hope, help me cope

With this heavy load