Bird
By Mannat Kaushik
there is this little bird.
a queer one i see in the morning.
quite a wavering self she carries.
trying to march to their drum beat.
there is this little bird.
an enervated one i see each morning.
for the obscure that she wants to reign each night,
she can't feel no contrite.
there is this little bird.
a berated one i see on fine mornings.
carrying the weight of their drums on her shoulders now,
she isn't sure of the beauty she is adorning.
there is this little bird.
copacetic she seemed one morning.
she flapped her wings and soared high above.
to the greatest of heights, there were.
there was a fine morning.
and the sense that life is ever reforming.
and the roles that we play on its stages.
and signs of the weather, that changes.
and yes there was this little bird.
familiar she seemed that morning.
i reminisced her chirping to the times i was naive,
and remembered her wishes to be as lucid as her dreams.
there was this little bird.
a caged one i saw after mornings.
nocturnal her nights had been.
deepened her wounds seemed.
there was that little bird.
"where'd you lose yourself?
you seem tired and your soul is hunched.
your pride is not upheld."
there was that little bird.
she started with a sigh.
and every time she does,
when i ask her why.
"i lost myself to the bounds of life.
the fake ones i tied myself to.
they were never really mine.
and they never really meant to.
i flapped my wings and soared high above.
to the greatest of heights, there were.
only to see the storm that comes in.
in hindsight; it made my vision blur."
there was this little bird.
and it reminded me of a girl.
is life as abstruse as it seems?
or could we both concur?
there was this little bird.
and it reminded me of a girl.
the girl who turned into who i am today,
trying to figure out life, as it unfurls.
and now, there's this little bird.
and it reminds me of all those.
who feel appalled, yet composed someday.
life is not ordained. it's just you. day by day.
By Mannat Kaushik
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