CHOICE STILL IN HAND

In the place of blue sky
Smoke and clouds too
For flying birds,
Neither east nor west
It's a question
All communication have broken
If not, who will touch the cradle?
No voice, except orders or demands
It's true,
Birds are in the space
Earth and Space
Not less then hunters hands
Dear birds
Let me know your choice;
sunder or fight?
Prison or death
Cherty or hunger
Nothing for you, but
Choice still in hand