Doing things we do, we at times are like a rabbit encaged for wool – the master feeds him with an eye on the quantity of his fur, and the rabbit sits in the wired cage marvelling at the world outside that once was his, thinking that one day, when he has no more wool to offer, he will be free – free from the prison, free from the slavery.
The rabbit often imagines how the world must be lonely and empty without him.
But has the world a moment to spare?
Winters, summers, rains and then winters again, each time the rabbit has more wool than the last, for the master never stops feeding him. He has a fear, though. Fear of beginning to like the cage, fear of things easy on his way. The day when he will be free for real, what will he do, where will he go?
This slavery is turning into habit.
He has grown fluffy and old. But his dreams about the world are forever new.
Anxiety, dejection, loneliness, he takes it all. Still, his eyes are never wet, never. For they carry his dream, his precious dream of freedom, of love, care and friendship.
Then he reminds himself: he may be caged, for that he is, but his dreams are not. He has a song, a song of hope, a song of happiness. And the song travels far. Far from the rusty rods of the cage where he is caged.
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