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I am no longer a little girl. I have grown wings. They are right here, fully formed, have gained muscle over the years, nourished gently with great love, with dreams on them, with the deepest longing to fly. I waited patiently as these wings grew. I spent each one of my days dreaming of the time when they would be ready to fly. It’d come – this day, the time to fly and when it does, it does not mean that the nest is no longer unloved and unnecessary, it means, the time to fly has arrived.
These wings are my destiny, they were meant to grow. I am baffled, fantasized, in awe, gripped with wonder at its beauty – this is nature, this is life, just as the passing of a day, nightfall and the rising of sun is inevitable, I’d inevitably fly.
Dear wings, I can’t wait to fly. I don’t know where I will go. I never for once thought about where to go – all I have imagined is to ‘just go’ – keep going, keep flying over oceans as the sun rises, over bonfire flames at the foot of cold hills, over vast lands of incredible beauty and pain. I wish and hope to enjoy each of one of these senses that I am blessed with. To see the thousand shades of green in a breathing forest, hear the prayer of mountains, the sound of heartbeats in dark bars at street corners in big cities, taste the salt of oceans, smell the aroma from pans in small houses with big hearts and feel the warmth of a snowflake in the chill of a northern winter and more! The muscles in my wings hold cosmic energy, the swelling of this energy from stagnation causes pain greater than the pain that comes from rigorous movement. I must go. I must fly.
As I keep going, I hope to touch hearts with mine, to listen and love, to cry with those in pain, add to the sound of laughter in happy corners of this world, I wish to fly with an open heart that is willing to take in whatever is given, offered with kindness and to give endlessly and never forget that in this same world is hope.
Current times have made it difficult to remain naïve – maybe there will be no movement. It is possible that I open my wings with all my might only to fall on the ground, reality doesn’t always agree with dreams but for as long as this heart beats, I shall travel, I shall move – the mind has a universe in it, I will wander one street, one village, one forest, one river at a time – the imagination will never cease and nor will the wandering. For a true wanderer, it matters not where one goes – a glass of water on an old wooden table is poetry that holds truth just as intense as the ocean on the other side of the world.