Tiny in
its appearance, dark legs, a long tail with several black bands till the
rounded tip but an entirely white plumage with wings streaked red having
mysterious dark bars underneath. Always sitting at the far end of the branch,
away from the rest; thus being a subject of speculation. Forlorn, staring
through space into an unknown abyss, enthused by nothing; the
world registered its distance in words that had but mocked her sorrow. But
humans, species driven by their bizarre enthusiasm, were of least concern. Lost
in the silence of her longing, the bird couldn’t care less. To the world she was
known as an object of marvel, ‘a bird leading a life of loneliness’, but of her story, they knew nothing…
*.*.*
Flying
meadow to meadow, ocean to ocean, in search of that which she could call home.
So swift in her moves and euphoric in her flight, she was a thing incapable and
unintelligent of sorrow. She fluttered
from the mayhem of the waves to the quiet of the fields, driven by her need to
belong, she searched and searched but could not find that which she could call
her own. The wonders of Earth revealed themselves, awed by the profundity of
each, she would ruminate for hours wallowing in the peaceful river of ravishing
sights and simple little moments she has collected over the course of her
journey. To see, she was complete. But to learn, she wasn’t. The incompleteness
has always been there, only she didn’t know; for strange is the poetics of
life, you are oblivious of what’s missing from you until the moment someone brings it to you. And so alike all ignorance, hers as well was bound to end; with a
revelation which was beautiful, but only in the beginning…
To look
back it is difficult to recollect where did he come from. She feels like he has
always been there; a part of her life since the beginning, always her companion
to every flight. That’s the thing about intimates we love, so overwhelmed by
their charming intrusion we forget how our lives were before they had come. It
was a rainy evening, tired by her day’s exciting flight, she landed on the
highest branch of Alpines that stood broad and strong, just like a love which
was about to bloom. Unaware of his presence and distracted by the sheeting
rain, she held on to the branch from keeping herself fall but so wild was the
tempest, it was sure she wouldn’t hold on long. Alarmed by something move from
behind the dripping lush leaves, she halted her struggle and
concentrated. Her velvet feathers were adorned with little droplets of rain strung together
like ornaments across her neck and forehead, he, who had been watching her
struggle since quite a while, was dazzled by the sight of her ethereal beauty.
He inched closer and spread out his wings for her to hold on. It is seldom that
life without being asked offers us things too good to be true; and when it
happens, we tend to know not how to keep it, for just because it came our way
too easy. And yet, she instinctively moved closer and he protectively held her in his
broad, gentle wings. Her young heart swayed by his warm presence, with as much
as a care in the world, she fell for the bird who showed up at the most
unlikely time in the most unlikely place; and like a weightless leaf, she flew
with the wind which brought her where she desired. She was in love. She never
saw it coming. It just happened. She had, finally, found a home.
Sitting abandoned by the same branches seasons later with him in her mind always meandering about, he was more real than everything else. Little was their time, but extremely thorough. There was romance, just not the kind necessary to make a story. It was a simple connection transcending all expressions; for interestingly never a word passed between the two yet the love was confessed and revered in its full glory. She had conquered every blessing. She was infinite in every moment that passed. In every moment that passed she was more alive than she’s ever been and ever will be.
She went back in the rain to find him. She took high flights to go beyond the skies and bring his soul back from the realms above. But what more than a tiny fragile creature was she? What more was she than a broken winged thing which saw her bird dying before her eyes?
Because as per the rule, it was not tolerable for nature to allow a union. And so it happened, that which is inevitable, that which none could fight. Her heart was pierced with thorns of death that ruthlessly took away her home. It happened quick. The bullet left the rifle, it was a numbing sensation, the two hearts stopped as the sound of death boomed through the woods, but when it was over, only one continued to beat…
Because as per the rule, it was not tolerable for nature to allow a union. And so it happened, that which is inevitable, that which none could fight. Her heart was pierced with thorns of death that ruthlessly took away her home. It happened quick. The bullet left the rifle, it was a numbing sensation, the two hearts stopped as the sound of death boomed through the woods, but when it was over, only one continued to beat…
Such is
the tenet of life; you are brought things you don’t even know you need, yet
once they become almost like an inseparable part of you, they are taken away,
without even having you bid a final adieu. And how strange is the way of the
world, one moment you are so sure of which way you are heading, but the paths
suddenly change, and it is no longer the place you used to know. What do you do
then? Where do you go? Your home is gone. You think hardly little can go wrong
at one point, unaware that the wrong which awaits is going to alter your
world.
For in
all its reality, there aren’t many sure things in life.
And thus remained a dream unlived, and emptiness echoed in their nest
crafted from bark and jasmine leaves knit together with spider’s silk, their
fancy house attached to the highest tree branch near the river facing the mountains,
so the first ray of sun could reach at them and the morning breeze would caress
them from their sweet slumber to wakefulness. That uncertain future she was so
looking forward to became a past, and she didn’t even realize it.
She
mourned the loss of him once, and the memory of him forever. The sound of death
touched her once, but will echo in her senses forever. She absorbed all his
love in her red wings and she pours it at herself every once in a while; and
deeply engraved on her underwings is his memory. It is in her that he lives,
and in him she has preserved herself. He might have flown off to a distant
land, and though she could no longer see him inching closer in the rain, or be
aware of his touch holding them together in the storm; she could however still
always sense his fragrance lingering in the air that surrounds her. She could
always sense him looking at her. The heavens would pour and despite him
sleeping miles away somewhere amidst the heap of withered leaves, he was always wide awake in her memory. He wasn’t there, yet in so many ways he still
was. His absence itself was like a palpable presence.
So say
what the world may, knowing of a race for its trait of ignorance, it mattered
not what it said. They clicked her pictures for her peculiar appearance and
even peculiar lifestyle, but she? She would
register none. She wallows in the quiet of her yearning where she finds the solace she's robbed of. And stares straight across time and space fighting the phantoms,
focusing with all her might to escape the anguished chaos of that night which
has her helplessly trapped, and walks into the trails of eternal silence,
because only silence can guide her back home.
The world
may not have seen their union,
The heavens will.
The heavens will.
