Ink Stained

Little Miss Flappy Bird, where is your calm? Is it your little stomach, Or your itchy palms. What makes you jump, and jump over again? What makes you turn, and turn over again? Little Miss Flappy Bird, Where do you come from? Is it some place far, or close some place, that is known to all as the Fidgety Town? Here this Sunday morning, you sit on the highest cable. You sit for a moment still, and then jump over again. You watch me with your one side eye, and then turn around your place. You watch me with your other side eye, and then turn over again. Is it me that you find amusing, or is it in your nature? Or is it my smile charming, that you descend from your cable stature? What in your chirping voice you tell, what from the little beak mask? Oh you want me to come with you, so sweet of you to ask. As much as I admire your joyous life, your jumping off the twigs and leaves; my life is chained in thorns, and am made to live it like t

Here in this part of the world, where sometimes relations have a value more than transactions and where also strangers sometimes become more valuable than the once closest blood relations; exist certain questions. Certain questions to which answers were never made our found. Why did the younger son of the two couldn't grow? Why couldn't he join swimming in his primary school days? Why couldn't he go to school on the scooter? Why couldn't he work as he desired? And most importantly, why did he give up on it? Why does a beating from dad, which once left you horrified for days, leaves a smile on your face, more inclined towards laughter today? Why on a Rakshabandhan, where on one hand none of your cousins sent you a Rakhi, an year old sister sent one four days prior? And why to that you wrote a lengthy letter in a language she hardly understood(targeted audience)? These are the few locks the blacksmith made without a set of keys to open them. Or he must've lost t