[Featured on @WattpadPoetry under the reading list "Random" on September 18, 2021]
[Featured on @CoffeeCommunity under the reading list "Cappuccino" on March 27, 2022]
[Featured on @StoriesUndiscovered under the reading list "Poetic Marvels" on Ap...
Rất tiếc! Hình ảnh này không tuân theo hướng dẫn nội dung. Để tiếp tục đăng tải, vui lòng xóa hoặc tải lên một hình ảnh khác.
Perhaps grey is a colour, hard to spot. So, no one had picked her up, because no one had seen her.
Or maybe because, they couldn't care less, about an almost lifeless grey bird, fallen on the floor.
What were once glorious feathers, were now bent and broken. What was once an eagle-spirit, was now just a dying scar.
She was beauteous, when she was, a steadfast heart and soul. Perhaps that is why, no one picked her up. They all thought she was independent.
Her mellifluous chirp was long gone, gone with the wind in the forest. Her delicate wings were all torn, from sharp twigs of gloom.
From the looks of her, one could clearly see, she was fighting a storm. Probably one inside her heart too.
Through heavy showers her figure had flown, when the dams of skies burst into tears. Or when the sun was so far away, she had flown still, whence the snow had come.
Her wings had flapped and flapped, perhaps, that is why she fell down. She was tired.
But I think, she was not just tired of flying. She was tired of trying. I think, she was tired of the weight on her wings, of expectations and demands.
I wish she could have made it, but I guess they were a bit too late to get to me. My heart had flapped away too, because my spirit bird was gone.
