Swiftly and slowly it comes down from the skies, trying to figure out a way to its destination. Weird it is how we always try to go to the top whereas it is determined to touch the ground. It tries to sway a little as if buying time before reaching the destination It reminds me of something that still eludes me. Something that every now and then approaches me in disguise and before I could hold it, have it and feel it, it vanishes as the early morning purple that precedes the yellow that sets in welcoming the golden sun.
It is frail and short and guided by wind. I see it struggling against the breeze so I put out my hand to hold it with an intention to protect it and care for it just then it glides sways the other way and escape my hold. I close my fist thinking I have caught it. But as always it deceives my anticipation and expectations. I eye it closely this time determined to hold it with an act that is more out of fear of failure than the protective instinct. This time the touch is soft and velvet I smile knowing I have caught it. With a feeling of win I open my fist to see and look at my achievement.
I find it crumpled under the confines of my fist. It now looked fragile and afraid. It is white and gets darker near the core as if hiding things in its heart. Maybe the secret of longing eyes and secretive smiles that it encounters in its journey is held in its core. On viewing it more closely I find it comes from a far off place and from an unknown bird that I did not know of before, the guilt sets in.
The breeze grows stronger with each passing second. It begins to flutter on my palm as if trying to take a flight and making one more of those umpteen attempts to travel far and wide before touching its Ithaca, the ground.
I resent ultimately understanding that it is never mine. Its beauty is coupled with the air it flies in, the terraces it land upon and the million palms that try to hold it. I smile at my fate. I open my palm more and more and more until the fingers straighten, to help it take off. It takes off with the help of the wind and goes far and goes wide as if smiling at deceiving me once again. I eye it as far as I can until it goes beyond my reach. I know one day at some point of life when I am sitting at the terrace brooding over the present and future it will come and sit in my lap reminding of something from the past but this time I will not hold but let it fly, maybe I will help it fly.