When I was a child, I remember having a friend.
He was so small that he depended on me instead.
My mother called him beautiful as the sky,
But his mother wanted to make him tough—
To support the wild.

He was like a brother to me,
Always a part of my scenery.
Gave me shade when I needed,
Sometimes fruits
Or some woods—so considerate of me.

But when I grew old, he grew older.
Even though he has a long life,
He started to stutter.
“Oh Mother!” I gasped,
“What’s wrong with him?” I asked.

She gently called me outside
And asked:
“Is your scenery the same, or has it been deprived?”

--Red_magicwand

Under the couches, hideous in dark,
Trapped in the cage to find my own spark.
Iron became rusted while doing its work—
So determined! So stubborn! Like those iron bars.

Feeling nonchalant until I find the beam,
Running in woods where I find tall trees.
So tall that I wanna touch them,
But I’m filthy—
Because I am stained with a dream.

I wanna fight like a warrior,
But too scared.
I want to fly like a vulture,
But nobody cared.
I have a dream, but did it matter to fleas?
Still, I want to—
Try,...
Cry, fall, and free from this leash.

Because for them, it's a foolish stain,
But for me, it's the colours of my dream.


--Red_magicwand

They say I was gentle & light,
Never took me for a fright,
Unproblematic until I torn,
I was a feather in midst of storm.

All because I never hover with them,
It’s because my little presence holds a stand,
They are huge, rebellious like all,
And if I act, their eyes crawl.

Even I am small but hold an impact,
If I know my worth, I can be priceless like ink and pen,
But if I accept my fate and live like a worm,
Then no one can change me to be a
Lifeless feather broken in midst of storm.

— Red_magicwand