Always breaking loose to Heaven so high,
Knowing nothing what it means to try,
Closing my eyes again for seven hundredth time;
For the seven hundredth time I learn to fly.

Let my arms make wings to hold my soul,
Heart awoken for the whistling wind to call;
I’m taking off…
To follow my hope…
All in vain; against the earth I fall.

I’ve got no fear of being up above,
I’ve got no doubt if my way is right;
Thrilling, ringing is the utter calm,
And my hart is striving out to fight.

Wish I went some thirty-five years back,
Back to childhood with the air so blue
I’d have chosen the same
Sky bound track,
Scribbling over a virgin page anew.

If I am a bird and flying is my best,
Then the virgin page will have a rest.

January 19, 2013, Moscow
Margarita Siourina