Once upon a time
A long time ago
There lived a falcon.
A meaty coat of monochromed feathers
Piercing eyes, somewhat like the colorless toy marbles of a childhood
A peach dark nebula at the very nucleus of it
A pair of wings, far-flung and overarching
He would wake every morning to the daybreak atop the towering arm of a faraway eucalyptus
The entirety still like the stagnant tranquil of the seas before the storm
The eyes, restless like the flight of a newborn.
It was an everyday
The sun was setting to the southern winds across the western skies
The falcon was homeward bound
It was supper time
As he sailed through the skies one last time
Something crossed his eyes
Something at the very heart of the unkempt jungles
Something miles away, a distant blur that could be forgotten in the open eyes
But, the falcon was too exact to miss out on specifics.
And so, he aimed and he aimed well
He cut right through the throat of the jungle
If only he knew, that moment onward, everything would just pave the road to a revolution
A revolution like no other
A revolution like no other apparently
It was a cassowary.
The thorns of a shrub had cut her
There was blood, and a lot more pain
But, the cassowary was too disdained to plead for help; if only narcissism had a cure
The falcon stayed the night
The night after
And, the nights after
Twelve nights after, she had healed
But, the falcon couldn't leave
Neither did the cassowary ask him to
What heals us is often what breaks us.
As the day broke, the falcon stood next to the cassowary, his right wing spread across her
The flight of love, they'd call it.
"But I can't fly", the cassowary cried
"I will fly for us", the falcon smiled
"And I'll build ground", she smiled
"But, what about a home?", she was pensive
"Home is here", the falcon smiled in an unusual calm
It was an improbable wedding
But, a wedding nevertheless.
It was all good
The falcon fetched
The cassowary gathered
It was family
And then, one morning, parenthood embraced them
Four fledglings
The falcon kissed the cassowary to the meek shrills of the newborns
As the sun went past the mahagonies and the fish
And the moon shone with all her grace in the mid-sky
The cassowary lay awake
She was tired, she was sleepy, but yet, wide awake
"What's bothering you?", the falcon asked
"What if they can't fly?", the cassowary was disturbed
"They don't need to know they were born to fly", the falcon smiled
"But, what do we tell them?", the cassowary asked
"Nothing. They are what we are. And, we don't fly", the falcon said
"But you do fly!" she exclaimed
"Not anymore" he smiled
The falcon went fetching the next morning
Only that, this time, the skies were different
The time was lost in the tides
The high and the low
The fledglings had grown up
The skies were nothing but the skies to them
They called the jungle their home
They were what they were told they were.
Aren't we all?
And one day, they found love too.
The family wasn't about just a family anymore.
The falcon was gone.
The cassowary was gone.
But, what nobody knew was, with them was gone the truth of a hundred thousand lives
What lived on wasn't a lie
What isn't a lie is not the truth either
The half-truth of a lifetime had become the folklore of the ages.
The folklore we all wish we could afford to not believe
The folklore we all think we could believe was just another tale
The folklore we all desire to re-write someday
But then, what more are desires than mere desires?
Every revolution begins with an absurd idea of a madman.
How could this be any different?
One day, a madman wanted to re-write the folklore
For the first time in years, someone was willing to risk it all
But, so much for re-writing a folklore?
If only someone could convince the madman to the otherwise.
He was laughed at
He was scorned at
He was cursed at
He was lamented at
But then, a madman is a madman.
And so, he spread his wings and leaped
He fell straight on his face
The jungle called it "the fall of a lunatic"
Death haven't deterred madmen
This was just a fall.
He tried one more time
He fell one more time
He tried one more time and one more
He fell again. Again. Again.
Broken bones. Bruised eyes. A bleeding beak.
The madman took one last leap
This fall would kill him
And, as the jungle let out a sigh in an anticipation of the inevitable
The madman flew.
The wind was too strong
The wings were too weak
The entirety of his strengths and beliefs could suffice for just a flight
The madman had his last fall
The jungle called it "the flight of freedom"
The madman had just begun a revolution
The equations had changed
The roadside lunatic of a yesterday was the legend of today
If only the world could afford legends while they were still alive
Today, everyone wants to fly
Today, no one wants to call the jungles their home
Today, everyone is aiming for the skies
Some fly
Some few die trying
The others just sit there, watching the flight of a falcon, and complaining of prejudice.
A long time ago
There lived a falcon.
A meaty coat of monochromed feathers
Piercing eyes, somewhat like the colorless toy marbles of a childhood
A peach dark nebula at the very nucleus of it
A pair of wings, far-flung and overarching
He would wake every morning to the daybreak atop the towering arm of a faraway eucalyptus
The entirety still like the stagnant tranquil of the seas before the storm
The eyes, restless like the flight of a newborn.
It was an everyday
The sun was setting to the southern winds across the western skies
The falcon was homeward bound
It was supper time
As he sailed through the skies one last time
Something crossed his eyes
Something at the very heart of the unkempt jungles
Something miles away, a distant blur that could be forgotten in the open eyes
But, the falcon was too exact to miss out on specifics.
And so, he aimed and he aimed well
He cut right through the throat of the jungle
If only he knew, that moment onward, everything would just pave the road to a revolution
A revolution like no other
A revolution like no other apparently
It was a cassowary.
The thorns of a shrub had cut her
There was blood, and a lot more pain
But, the cassowary was too disdained to plead for help; if only narcissism had a cure
The falcon stayed the night
The night after
And, the nights after
Twelve nights after, she had healed
But, the falcon couldn't leave
Neither did the cassowary ask him to
What heals us is often what breaks us.
As the day broke, the falcon stood next to the cassowary, his right wing spread across her
The flight of love, they'd call it.
"But I can't fly", the cassowary cried
"I will fly for us", the falcon smiled
"And I'll build ground", she smiled
"But, what about a home?", she was pensive
"Home is here", the falcon smiled in an unusual calm
It was an improbable wedding
But, a wedding nevertheless.
It was all good
The falcon fetched
The cassowary gathered
It was family
And then, one morning, parenthood embraced them
Four fledglings
The falcon kissed the cassowary to the meek shrills of the newborns
As the sun went past the mahagonies and the fish
And the moon shone with all her grace in the mid-sky
The cassowary lay awake
She was tired, she was sleepy, but yet, wide awake
"What's bothering you?", the falcon asked
"What if they can't fly?", the cassowary was disturbed
"They don't need to know they were born to fly", the falcon smiled
"But, what do we tell them?", the cassowary asked
"Nothing. They are what we are. And, we don't fly", the falcon said
"But you do fly!" she exclaimed
"Not anymore" he smiled
The falcon went fetching the next morning
Only that, this time, the skies were different
The time was lost in the tides
The high and the low
The fledglings had grown up
The skies were nothing but the skies to them
They called the jungle their home
They were what they were told they were.
Aren't we all?
And one day, they found love too.
The family wasn't about just a family anymore.
The falcon was gone.
The cassowary was gone.
But, what nobody knew was, with them was gone the truth of a hundred thousand lives
What lived on wasn't a lie
What isn't a lie is not the truth either
The half-truth of a lifetime had become the folklore of the ages.
The folklore we all wish we could afford to not believe
The folklore we all think we could believe was just another tale
The folklore we all desire to re-write someday
But then, what more are desires than mere desires?
Every revolution begins with an absurd idea of a madman.
How could this be any different?
One day, a madman wanted to re-write the folklore
For the first time in years, someone was willing to risk it all
But, so much for re-writing a folklore?
If only someone could convince the madman to the otherwise.
He was laughed at
He was scorned at
He was cursed at
He was lamented at
But then, a madman is a madman.
And so, he spread his wings and leaped
He fell straight on his face
The jungle called it "the fall of a lunatic"
Death haven't deterred madmen
This was just a fall.
He tried one more time
He fell one more time
He tried one more time and one more
He fell again. Again. Again.
Broken bones. Bruised eyes. A bleeding beak.
The madman took one last leap
This fall would kill him
And, as the jungle let out a sigh in an anticipation of the inevitable
The madman flew.
The wind was too strong
The wings were too weak
The entirety of his strengths and beliefs could suffice for just a flight
The madman had his last fall
The jungle called it "the flight of freedom"
The madman had just begun a revolution
The equations had changed
The roadside lunatic of a yesterday was the legend of today
If only the world could afford legends while they were still alive
Today, everyone wants to fly
Today, no one wants to call the jungles their home
Today, everyone is aiming for the skies
Some fly
Some few die trying
The others just sit there, watching the flight of a falcon, and complaining of prejudice.
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