A Crumbling Future?

“Wing Collapse”, shout the newspapers

this morning. When the wing of a bird

collapses, we all know,the universe quakes a bit.

A wing is so precious.

Why, it might be the most fragile,

the most powerful, the most enabling,

the most tired thing in the world!

If I was a dog and a shopkeeper adopted me now,

they would just have to give me a torn blanket

and periodic food,

Or i might be a non-person, sitting on the

dappled tree all day, swinging on a leaf as

the wind moves it. Or i could be a child.

For the minor trouble of screaming aplenty,

I could get a pizza, may be a balloon, and never

have to think about anything responsible at all.

But these fantasies are threatened. My ears are full

of post-mortems of the wing. Was it overburdened?

Did it soar too high? Was it too ambitious? Did someone

do anything to damage it? Deliberately? Off handedly?

Were they greedy, insensitive, short sighted or

just apathetic?

I am still there too. Wherever else i go,

Its not possible to be anywhere else really.

All else is so white and

known and confident. The collapsed wing is so

dark, impossible and unknown. They have

tried to camouflage it in a bandage of green netting.

But it inescapably is, A huge vortex of nothingness

in the middle of the royal ball…

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