When hope comes from a blade of grass
Entering the cage, heavy breathing on his neck, stench of feces in the air, concrete stained with liquid mysteries, kneeling on cardboard, taking his place. Clanging gates, stomping on to the next bird, the guard disappeared. Holding the grass blade between his fingers, he played his music to soothe souls.
Lisa Tomey-Zonneveld
Photo from Unsplash
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