I was born with the wings,
One on each.
Living the fullest,
Without any deterrent.
Piercing the altitudes,
Flying through the clouds,
I invariably felt that life is free.
When I was five,
My wings extended.
I was glad to climb over the rainbow
Hugging the hues of euphoria
And chasing my own shadow.
I turned eleven.
My wings became pale.
The colours of the rainbow
Were slowly melting.
I tried to dye them with my paints
But they were wiped by the world.
My wings dried when I turned twenty.
Dry like the autumn leaves.
People stepping on my wings
And crushing them into fractions
That delicate beauty of mine
Altered into grey-black ashes.
I whimpered day and night
Thinking about their journey
From the warmth of spring
To the autumn fall
I wish I hid them from the world
Not letting them step and
Not letting them burn.
Collecting those ashes,
I held it in my palms.
And determined to let them be reborn
I blew the ashes near the cliff
And agreed to jump off
Relying on ashes.
I closed my eyes in the air
Assuming that I may fly,
Instead of hitting the ground.
I was near to the bottom
And unawares, I flew again.
Without dropping
I gained my wings
Once again
Trusting myself
Instead of following others,
I made my way.
Now my wings
As massive as those of Maleficient
Sharp enough to cut the heads
Of the pessimist
I regained them
One again
Dominant and powerful than before.
Stunning Inspirational poetry by Maseera Batool.