My little bird,
fly, fly high—
beyond the trembling branches,
beyond the restless sky.

You are free,
not bound to the dust of hours,
nor the cages of memory.
Your wings are woven of light,
your song is made of eternity.

Little bird,
in your flight I see
the secret dialogue
between silence and infinity,
between the breath of the earth
and the dream of the stars.

Go, carry the horizon
in the curve of your wings,
scatter the seeds of dawn
into the heart of night.

Fly, fly high,
my little bird—
you are not alone.
The universe sings with you,
and freedom is the echo
that returns forever.