Maybe it was never about you being with me till the end, Maybe the ending isn't any more important than any of the moments leading to it. Maybe the important thing over there was that, I was happy. And I'm very grateful that we met, And however sad I may become after losing you, I'll never regret loving you.
Even in thousand raindrops, I felt the warmness and comfort of your sounds. Even in a single umbrella, it was enough for us to enjoy this moment. Even in this alleyway, I never felt fear for you are with me. Even in this lonely rainy season, I will still remember you. Even in this gloomy street, It never felt as joyful as with you. Even in this music, I now know your importance in this rhythm. Even in this dream I created with you, I now know that you are too real for me. Even in this reality, that you don't exist...I still kept it in my heart to walk with you again. Even in this simple dream, even in this simple scenery, even in this simple form of you and me, I still yearn to sleep again.
Do you think caged birds know, the mountains exist... or that sound echoes in breathtaking valleys. That pebbles create ripples or that kids play and swing on trunk and roots of banyan tree. Do you think caged birds have ever seen... the friendly gestures of a dolphin, or the dance of a peacock... when the clouds roar before rains begin. Do you think caged birds wonder if there's a world outside of those bars. Do you think caged birds know, what those wings are for. That there are other birds like them, soaring high in the sky... singing, searchin, hunting... fighting, building, breaking... humming lullabies at night. Do you think caged birds desire more from life... or are they content in the safety and comfort of the bars behind which they reside. Do you think caged birds are resentful or grateful, for all that their caretaker provides. Do they know they have a limited amount of time... and with every sunset in the cage, they're moving close to losing so many fulfilling flights. Do you think caged birds wonder at the changing colors of the sky or maybe wish to talk to other birds when they see them collecting straw and grain every sunrise. Maybe caged birds don't think at all. Maybe they submit their identity and embrace the grim reality... that in the name of love humans do strange things... chain and cage the object of desire... to hold them close, hold them safe... even if against, the wish of the one they love. Maybe caged birds know, humans are insecure. Maybe to errors of understanding and fallacies of human mind, caged birds willingly supplicate their entire lives.
It's raining inside. Drops are falling with great fury, swirling in mid air and crashing the floor. My pale skin is drenched but the water doesn't seem to seep through me, like an overwatered plant dying of thirst. It's been so long trapped inside these four walls (whom I can hardly call a 'home').
I used to dwell in my dreams. I danced in the rainfall of golden autumn leaves, and they used to sing me a swan song so serene. Fireflies ebbed in and out of the sea of darkness. I wrote poems for them and they told me the stories of mystique lands and dazzling skies. I cut open my scars and bled blues on the paper until it morphed into an art.
But now, everything has changed. My world scorched up in the flames of reality. Two worlds crashed and I got trapped under the rubble. I should be crying, but the tears are somehow afraid to fall. My thoughts are crumpled up like the countless letters you sent me, in which the faded ink still whispers in your voice "Just keep breathing, everything will be alright."
I'm trying to stay alive but the air seems to be getting thinner every minute. The howling winds and the sreeching thunder don't make me afraid anymore. I don't even know if I'm a person or a memory of someone who lost the road to her home and died a long ago. This homesickness is plaguing my soul. Will I ever find my way back home? Will I succumb to this numbness? But that too seems impossible. . . .
//ᴰⁱᵈ ᵐʸ ʰᵒᵐᵉ ᵉᵛᵉʳ ᵉˣⁱˢᵗ?//
Sorry for submitting so late Ashu. And thank you for giving me permission to submit it after the time's over. My occasional writer's blocks and online classes made it very difficult to post it on time. #rf_lang_ch
Hiraeth is a Welsh word meaning "homesickness for a home where you can't go anymore or which never existed."
Gosh! I can't even believe my eyes right now. Thank you so much @writersnetwork and @mirakee for considering this worthy of your valuable repost.