Flapping my little wings, the sensation which was once, one in a million,
Has now strained my body beyond its limit. I could feel my isolation within myself,
Urging to break free from the cage of liabilities and expectations.
Walls stronger than my will and dark enough to covert my own shadow;
Curtailed by colorless veil of despondence, separating me from my life.
Nothing to be seen except the unseen and nothing to be heard except the silence of my presence.
Then came a soothing whisper of hope to save me from the inevitable
“I am descendant of the white lady , from the dale of liberators”
My burdened wings felt an ease,
She enlightened me with her mystic breeze .
“We are balanced by the holy branch of faith” said she.
“My ‘boule de confiance en verre’ is what you earn,
Which you must bear till demise”
But ‘le boule’ was too much to endure , my fragile intellect begging for its supercilious justification.
I wanted freedom from this white cage of futile peace .
I dropped the unknown ‘le boule’ and it shattered in uncountable ways.
I broke free from the white cage turned black.
I could feel my aura and  lust reverberating through my shallow trench of enduring glory, my eyes obscured.
I opened my eyes in the horror of excitement , only to see the lady in white fall into oblivion.
Flapping of my little wings had now honored my body beyond the untold,
In the cage of betrayal and dishonor.

Caressing all the seven cracks on the unpolished surface of the shinning mirror,
Growing with me and my deeds.
My fingers reached out for the white pearl at the bottomless top of the bygone vintage .
But all, my fingers could embrace was dust of oblivion , requesting to be known.
My fingers bathed in the blood of all my sinful deeds, adorned the broken edges with the color of my futile eminence.
My flamboyant touch on my glacial self, reminded me of myself, the untold self.
Once the touch which was youthful, turned cold with the tocks.
All the touch of decency are now the tales of my unbreakable past, which broke my fragile present.
Now All I am left with are some mere cracks of negligence, courtesy of the dishonored pebbles.
I picked a broken glass shard and whispered my enchantments of retaliation.
“What part of me are you ?
Are you me or am I you ?
Are you my broken self , or am I your few remaining intact pieces ?”
In the name of justice, I graced the mirror with seven new remarks .
I proved my failure by an attempt to undo the what was wrong.
But all I just did was deepen the scars of what can’t be undone.