As blue turns grey
hot summer days become cold windy night
right before an unexpected storm
a bird leaps into the sky.
The tones of blue and grey become its background.
Rhythmic movements possess its body.
like its dancing
It feels love, and affection
it feels a comforting warmth,
even though the wind it surfs on is cold as ice
as cold as lies and mistakes of its past.
It still tries to feel joy.
Dreams of a dream none have seen,
it just wants to be happy.
It wants to stop trying
trying to survive, instead live.
wants to find comfort in its skin.
It wants to find peace before the storm that lies coming.
As it knows, its nest might be destroyed
but not its reason to live.
It does not see rain in its sight
but sees hope after the rain.
Because it knows,
the rain only destroys its nest
so it can let go of the limits it housed.
A better home it shall build
in a place, it longs to be in.
The storm has finally arrived, its dark.
The nest is flooded away.
All trees quiver and break.
No more love, affection, and warmth is felt.
The only thing its remained of is lies and horrid pasts.
It lost sight of hope.
It doubts its reason is not strong enough to live.
Strike of lighting in front of its eyes
like a lit candle in the dark.
It sees, not a glimpse of hope
it sees its dreams
the dream no one has seen.
It doesn’t need a tree or nest to protect it.
It doesn’t need to wish for anything to help it.
How selfish is that?
It will confront the pain.
No matter the strong rain it will still fly.
Its body can only get so wet,
only so heavy
Even rain has its limits.
One can only be the one,
one to break itself.
As long as it can fly
it will fly.
It realises there is more to this rain
Pain and suffering aren’t only for one.
Its whispers to itself stops.
It hears a thousand little voices crying,
trying to find hope it once saw.
So unprepared to fight, they have left
only pieces of their firm homes,
but lack a firm will.
It sees nightmares
nothing like its dreams.
Their cries not only kill them
but for the bird kills its dreams.
Seems like it gets stronger
only to see things far worse.
It feel its vision become only more impossible.
it stops listening to the cries,
it stops trying to fly
lets its wings rest,
Stand still.
It hears with its eyes closed
the alluring music of the storm
the sound of rain, the smell
of earth getting drenched.
It finds peace.
The kind of peace it couldn’t get
even while flying in the clear sky.
There was acceptance.
It was ready to fly again,
To give its best.
Spreads its wings,
as wide as it could.
Forgot what was hesitation.
Lifted its feet off the ground,
its eyes still shut.
All of a sudden it felt warmth,
touch its feathers.
The frigid rain droplets stopped punching its body down.
Grey rejuvenated into vivid blues
It now was flying in storm-drained skies.
It knew
that a second of hesitation
could have made the rain stronger
the winds blow harder.
The sight not of hope,
but that of trying its best,
that made the sky cloudless.
That ended the grief and darkness.
For the storm not to be called a curse
as it arrived when you ought to be happy.
In truth, it is a teacher, a test;
if conquered and learnt from,
None can find a better boon.
An epiphany after the tempest
thoughts clear.
There stands no need to build a better nest,
it will only be blown by another storm.
It is better to build a better world
that no storm can torment or threaten.
A life of meaningless luxury is great
But to be meaningful,
A better future is to be built.
