Tag Archives: bird

The Bird of Love (takes flight?)

The Bird of Love (takes flight?)

Pity the fool who claims
to have fallen in love;
to have fallen in love
with a fool like me…!
What shall you gain,
except for a desire
to reflect on yourself
in the name of love,
in the name of a love
that is true in YOUR world.

And, what shall you gain,

than a desire perhaps,

to deflect yourself,

to despise yourself,

in the name of a ‘love’,

true only, in your world.
This love for a dame
As wandering as I,
As gentle as I,…
As ‘deceiving’, as I.

Though yes, of course,
I never deceive for the sake
Of deception,
Or to settle for some other
object of affection…
But there’s nothing here
you would like to own;
Not even this heart:
this lump of flesh,
this vessel, of blood…?

My blood a life,

a life not mine,
only to be shared,
never surrendered
And never given away:
Given away, so as to
render me lifeless!

This heart belongs,
truly, to the one,
Who strives not
for the sinful bliss
seized in the chimera:
a mistaken feeling,
of possession.


“Be mine”, he says.
I say, “Be yours first.”
He says, “I AM mine.”
I say, “So am I.”

He looks at me,
eager, “So are you, what?
“No, I am mine too,
just as you are yours.
My madness, for me;
My laughter, for me.
And what could you share,
but only a few hours,
hours by the clock?
You share your body,
But your eyes block me out,
Block my passage to your soul.”

Taking my words
for a passing remark,
for a poet’s thought:
fleeting, yet haunting;
He tries to convince me,
“My soul is yours.”
I answer,
“So you thought to give me
what you want for yourself,

the least?”

A wise bargain indeed,
coming from a man
too much of the world;

a world, strange indeed,

to a stranger as I.




“I asked her how it felt to be stuck in that box, to which she replied….”

I asked her how it felt to be stuck in that box, to which she replied....

I asked her it how felt to be stuck in that box, to which she replied….

….I made a box for myself; Well, I didn’t quite ‘make’ it on my own, completely. I was assisted by others (including my mother, who at the time thought a box was a good enough space to be in). And what’s worse: I started LIVING inside this stupid box, and perhaps ALL the time. And what did I turn into?…An almost corpse inside a coffin-like box.

Now I’m breaking free, from the nuts and bolts of metallic, mechanic conventions. I am breaking free after years of scratching at a supposed coffin, so many times being convinced in my rusting heart that I WAS actually dead! Thank God, for the first beam of light I felt on my face…

And you know something? ———- I am now grateful for being in that box then. It was so beautifully decorated and that too, just for me (or so I was told), that at first I felt guilty for wanting to break it, and to break out of it. But all those experiences taught me many precious lessons of life, jewels that I wouldn’t have been able to claim otherwise!


I shall highlight here, the top two:

First, convention DOES (begin to) appear beautiful to the one ‘locked’ inside it, after a certain point…
And why not? —————–

Those aesthetics have been conditioned so in the minds (of the majority), as these very minds begin to forget that not everyone (including themselves) has to adhere to similar parameter(s) of aesthetic. And those who do so, are for the most part just being disloyal to themselves and to the entire human race in turn.

Second, the one striving for freedom must be equipped with adaptability skills.

i. When you’re trapped in, you learn to survive against the toughest, most unwanted conditions (provided you recognize being        involuntarily trapped).
ii. In the (later) process of breaking out, the same survival skills help you be creative and to persevere, in devising your escape                      route!
iii. Once out, the free bird doesn’t get things sent down from Heaven for free. She must struggle hard in all kinds of weather, and                    have strong wings to fly long lengths and tall heights, and to stay vigilant in case she might get lucky enough to find a small flock.


But simultaneously, she ought to be aware so as not to burn herself out in the scorching sun, and to make home in whatever the journey allows…

       For she knows, nothing within the journey is permanent, other than the winding journey itself!