41 years after Maya Angelou first published her soulful poem "The Caged Bird," I read it and it strikes me with a freshness of meaning that sticks to my mind. I still hear the caged bird sing. The caged bird still sings of freedom. It sings in me.
The poem originally explores themes of restriction, confinement, oppression and captivity. It is an extended metaphor for the historical oppression of the black people in the United States.
But there's a captivity that clings to the caged bird even after its physical release. And though the caged bird may dash out of its physical cage in a manic of ambition, it still sits sullen on top the branch of a mango tree and fears to own the sky.
Oppression, confinement, and intimidation, are much worse when they echo from within you and hold you down.
I know the many things I think about to begin, to continue, to execute, but maybe after one fickle attempt, after shyly dipping my wings in the orange rays of the Sun, I recoil back to my nest and hide my feathers.
My nest looks free, but there is an invisible cage, welded from insecurities and doubts that crisscross around me. These are the dizzying illusions I prefer to the clarity of faith. And then at the end, I sacrifice my dreams to fear, and I lack the courage to dare.
There's a second phase to this: The ripple effect of suppression.
While others strut their stuff and enjoy the levity of flying around, I watch, sulk, jealously criticize and condemn them. I may feel deep down that I can fly as much as them, that my wings are better than theirs, that I can sing in higher pitches than them, but I don't. And since they do, it feels as if they stole my glide, my song, my beauty.
The caged bird sings of freedom; freedom from the tyranny of fear, freedom from the gloom of discouragement, freedom from the suppression that leads to rage.
I know my sky, you know yours. I know the lush dreams I entertain, you know yours. I want to dash out and cut my cake off the clouds. I want to set my caged bird free.
And I hope you do the same.