The Flight She Took

By Kaustubhi Mathur

She lies in her nest, of thorns and suffocation,

There comes a sudden temptation.

The solemness of the path unreached,

the familiarity of the darkness suddenly breached.

Suddenly she opens her wings so tall, so stretched,

like a hand -for a dream- outstretched.

The sky so beautiful, so blue

like the dreams she painted and drew.

She flutters her wings once and then again,

the wind not understanding her astrain.

It gives way to her for a moment,

surprised by the urgency in her usual dormant.

Her mind is messed, her thoughts askew,

an arousal to reach out that she cannot subdue.

A peak of sky so out of reach she thought,

seems to be right above her, waiting to be caught.

She basks in the wind she cuts through, so refreshing,

a path that once seemed so scary, so enmeshing.

Everything feels so clear, so straight,

the scare of the obstacles, for a moment, abate.

Comes another one flying back from the path,

his shoulders tense and eyes wide with wrath.

"Where", he asks, "are you going, little bird?"

"Do you", he continues, "see not the path is blurred?"

She stares ahead confused, bewildered,

"Sir", she replies, "a path perfectly clear has never appeared."

But she falters and thinks of the matter,

'he's seen the path ahead', she thinks, 'he probably knows better.'

So she goes back to her nest, of thorns and suffocation,

gone is the freedom's temptation.

The solemness of the path unreached,

the familiarity of the darkness unbreached.

The night passes and comes the next day,

through the cracks of the nest comes a ray.

She sees the path and wakes up with a jolt of realisation,

matters not anyone's opinion and comes a new motivation.

She flutters her wings once and then again,

the wind understanding her astrain.

It gives way to her for a moment,

this time smiling at the urgency in her usual dormant.

This time she listens to no one,

the older bird stands stun.

She rushes to the peak, her dream,

a treasure shining in the beam.

She sits atop the throne of her win,

her head adorned with a crown and her face with a grin.

Realises she that the path cannot be free of obstacles,

that a dream is achieved devoid of miracles.

And she lays in the peak, so soft and free,

finally a safe place she has no intentions to flee.

The happiness of the path she dared to seek,

no more is just a dream, this beautiful peak.

By Kaustubhi Mathur