by Maabad Said (Temple)
To fly…
He was always infatuated
Oh, how he envied the birds
To sprout wings…
And enjoy the gentle caress
Of nothingness
Every night he’d be a raven
Or an eagle soaring
Then brutally awakened
With the sense that he was falling
He’d curse and vow…
One day he would fly
But not quite yet…
The trapeze,
Came to him with ease
Everyone who witnessed
Labeled him as gifted
A la naturel
For With every rise, he rebelled
Against the tyrant that him grounded
As the crowds watched in awe
Astounded…
He inhaled in their astonishment
With all his might
Their unbelieving gasps,
Sufficed…
As his vice,
Though he realized
One day they won’t suffice
One day he would fly
But not quite yet…
That day,
One thought had him consumed
He put on his flashy costume
Pouncing for his debut
Drum roll
He lifted
Up and down he drifted
The graceful arc of his swing
Embracing the stationary wind
Release
Hugging the lights
Arms extending
Catch
Holding on for dear life
Descending
The crowd shrieked with delight
His eyes swayed
For all he heard were jeers
Sneers if you may
For failure of a flight
That Descent was a must
Got his gut repulsed
One day he would fly
But not quite yet…
Drum roll
Once again
He lifted
Up and down he drifted
The graceful arc of his swing
Embracing the stationary wind
Release
Once
He flipped
Glimpsed
The sensation was surprising
Twice
He flipped
the trapeze came arising
Thrice
He flipped
Fingers grazed
But refused to grip
Like they were insulted
Time halted…
Instincts had revolted
His will to live
Vanquished !!!
In one twitch of vanity
Insanity even
Yet while the rebel… fell…
A tear dropped… upwards
Defying the tyrannous gravity
He never screamed
ecstatically silent his fall
His curtain call
A single, sickening thud
And A trickle of blood
Across a smiling face
Smiling…
For even in his dead
He lay there eagle-spread
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