on most days I feel more like a failure,
My flamboyant, gaudy, celestial feathers,
now bleached and dusty,
under the pallid twilight of the waning ivory crescent..
I feel like freezing time into shimmering little crystallized pearls,
putting it in a green glass bottle,
and offering it to the ocean currents to decide its fate,
just like it decides all of ours..
on other days I feel like ceasing the thawing breeze,
Zooming it for hours till I find the loom of transparent threads it’s moulded of,
carrying the sweetest secret and buried whispers from the places it has travelled through..
how surreal this notion seems,
to think that the wind’s composed of invisible strings,
hemmed by the star scented seraphs and fairies,
with the powers of blowing off all our worries,
on such days I wonder what lies beyond the dank blanket of million stars named the ‘sky’..
May be if it singed into ashes just like the crumbled pages addressed to hearth, it will open the doors to nothingness too,
a damp void of powered wishes aimed at the shooting stars,
Maybe this void will consume my failing efforts too,
And maybe it’ll get me a new pair of vivid mauve wings lined with passiflora tendrils,
and laced with new hopes stitched in rosalind designs too,
Maybe it’ll weave it’s sky together again,
And let me take my flight too.’
©A. Kamal.. ‘
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