Thousand beggings to the falling stars
And numerous prays for a touch
But it took a mauling to realise
There's no 'wish-come-true' as such
One day the yearning bird decides
To confess the endearment he crave
Hopeing for either extremes of fate,
To Fall in love or to fall in grave.
he stacked up every twig and stone
To erect and climb up a slope
But oblivious that every divinity
forbids it to bear the weight of hope
One night when he walked high enough
Saw a dark cloud of a foreign jungle
It swirled around the moon and smirked
"Your dream is about to crumble."
Heinously wrapping those arms around
The wicked cloud obscured his dear
A violent wind knocked the ramp
Tossed the bird into oblivion of fear.
Leering cloud reminds the bird,
Lunging helplessly at air to cling,
That he was born with silver feathers
But was cursed with a broken wing
Hard hit the ground and
Harder hit the despair
Left behind a tender soul
And chirp of unheard prayers.
—Alex
YOU ARE READING
Silver Feathers
PoetryHow high will he fly, Before realising he has to fall.....? There is none to hear him cry, There is none for him to call.....!
