A Flight of Passage
A speck of gliding dot on the bluest blue canvas with cotton of milky whites. A forceful flap of air, as if it is nothingness. The elegant, effortless, smooth strokes. An olympian without a sport.
Through chilly November autumn days, or snowy February glace, or the scorching heat of an arid West desert, to the downpouring rain and thick black typhoon northern cloud, or the swirling gust of southern wind knocking down everything avowed, it never stops.
Flapping its two wings, meandering through danger, sailing like a master seafarer.
Flocking without doubt, yet a mystery awaits its every route. The unknown seems not to bother, as if the universe is its brother. Through the invisible maze of empty space, it embraces uncertainty with grace.
Why can’t we be like that? Why can’t we glide and stride as if life is air beneath our wings?
Yet we oblige to the murder of crows, and lie, and hide from prideful china rose.
Why can’t we consume the sinful worms of the earth without shame, but with laughter. The truth… is like a carnivore without a tooth.
We question, where our lives will take us next.
How the self is the only important thing one respects. And when the world hides its answers, we put a facade wall of toxic hex. Hurting people, pushing us solitary from the flock.
Yet, why do we keep going?
Perhaps we are just caught in a rat race with no way out, but perhaps, we see a hopeful flight of passage.
A hope we have always believed.
That no matter how many spikes, or u-turns, or stalls, or thunders coming our way, and the endless mock of our existence, and the slurs from unknown distance, our persistence to exist never ceases.
With every nasty eagle preying on us, and with every blade in the sky trying to suck the life out of us, with every tear we shed until it is impossible to cry,
we, continue to fly.
Just like those birds, gliding high up in the clouds above.
Full of hope, and faith, and conviction, that with every beaming sunrise on the horizon, there will always be a life worth to reason.
