To Cut & Fly

Source: https://www.plymouthchristian.org/fly-like-an-eagle/

Among countless prayers, I cracked & became a bird.

My first picture of the earth was the teary eyes of my mother.

Mother cried & laughed, I was her weapon — I was her wings.

Then she cried & cried & father cried too.

“This weapon is blunt & featherless.” They both agreed.

I am a boy & it didn’t matter if that is all I am & will be.

With scalpels & injections & rounds of stitches I near being a child again.

Mother’s blade began to cut & her feathers grew too.

One, two, three, four! She became a mother of birds — winged birds.

I still wasn’t flying.

Father plucked my wings & ground my mind till it was sharp, too sharp to be called a blade.

Books, more books. Then silence, more silence.

I lost my wings in the dead of learning to be a blade.

Again, Mother prayed & wished for something more

I knew she wanted more wings so I could fly too. She wanted to see me cut & fly like the eagles.

But prayers alone couldn’t wing me. Not even a city of words or cultured pretence.

Father knew this & so he schooled me same like the other birds.

My drills weren’t different- He taught me as though someday,

I will be the only winged saviour alive.

So, I learnt to cut & I cut till I began to fly & fall.

I flew & fell & flew & fell. I fell & flew & fell & flew. Then, I stopped & continue to cut.

Father prayed & prayed & talked Mother & the other birds to praying too.

With scalpels & injections & rounds of stitches, I began to fly this time refusing to fall too hard.

I flew & flapped my wings till again I could wing heights they all couldn’t.

Then, I fell & flew never again to fall.