Stories

Stories
We have seen their flights;
glorious, grand and
the ones cutting vast clouds.
The ones that have endured
the droughts, the fires
and the bites on the wings.
For they have soared
and reflected into the eyes
like starry glitters
of the ones who have fallen
as the fragments of ash
of the ones that could never
start to begin with
the ones that perished
or caged
before their flaps could cut the winds.

Pride is expensive, lucrative,
and if you survive your truth
meaningful too.
And not all are cherished enough
by us
or the ones we want to please
bear that in mind.
Not all storms are visible,
not all erode or destroy before eyes,
not all are witnessed.
But a few survive
who find a meaning
for that is all we got…

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