Fly High

It has been a long journey. From ground zero to a heavenly flight. A bird learns to fly. The first time it takes its heart out to stand at the edge of the depth that it wants to dive in, his wings unknown how does the air feel beneath them. When it takes the plunge, the feeling of death forces it to unfurl the wings. It never knew before how does it make one feel with death awaiting. Before the insticts drive it to escape it, a strange feeling grips it all and the bird for the first time feels that it is a bird and there is wind beneath its wings and it can fly like a bird. It can breathe, it can swing, it can twist, it can writhe in extreme friction between its downy and the air passing. Controlling the enthralling slavation would make it suffocate and feel like needles piercing through each of the tiny pores on its skin. It is happy, it can fly.

I have stopped asking where is red...or for whom there is red. When the flames gulp me all day long heading me towards oblong pyres, the yellow flames I can see entailing upwards...yellow...orange...red...black and vanish...like that little round plastic boxette of vermin which was emptied out and there was nothing in it. The line between the real and the unreal get smudged to percipitate into eternity. It surely filled me up with much of conviction and made me stop worshipping all and everything again with the mantras. Throw me up in the air. I am losing my weight, like the bird flying. But I have stopped to set on to the ground anymore. I would rather hit the ground with my wings stretched. The catastrophe would be marked.

No one would have the perception that the skull was broken into pieces, when it hit the ground.

Actually when the ground was hit, its mind was still in the eternity of a vast truth, that someone named unreal, though.