Lost in a bundle of thoughts,
Sadly, what belonged to her
Were the adjoining three dots.
She stood out—
In her balcony,
Others looked up—
With a look of pity.
‘On cloud nine’
Was a baseless paradigm
‘In seventh heaven’
Was used for the sake of rhyme.
The feathers of her pillow
Flew her to a dreamy creamy world
Needless to say, once dawn awoke
There were no wings to unfurl.
The caterpillar had it better
While its days in a confined space
Were calculated, were numbered
Hers were all but a fancy lace.
Folding a satin brooch of a butterfly
And a pair of scissors as a tool
She ripped off all its embellishments
To wind it around a wooden spool.
All she ever longed for
Was to witness a free fall
But the universe and her desire
Were engaged in an eternal brawl.
So she wove herself a set of wings
By letting her quill spill and sigh,
And others couldn’t possibly fathom
That she had actually learnt to fly.
|“What if I fall?” “Oh but my darling, what if you fly?” -e.h
(Picture credits- Unknown; Source: We heart it)