I linger in the corners of the room
blending with the wind.
Drinking in the joyous hours
of a mother, father, and their little one
with a blue wings.
Their laughter blooms on the walls,
their hearts sprouting love.
The glass tiles dance
as if they are the ones adored.
My mind stops ticking,
my eyes patient, hoping to be next.
I dwell beneath street lamps,
ghosting the moment
of a mother caressing her daughter's cheek,
the father kissing her forehead,
silently promising– I'll always be there.
But wait.
She has wings– wrapping her mother and father
from my wicked being.
I cling to the park trees,
hide behind swings and roller coasters,
behind benches and lily ponds.
My lips soften, my eyes soothed
as the sky echoes with children’s melodies.
The clouds dyed in soft colors
from a little one’s quill.
The grass adores small paws
chasing their parents.
The sight–
caged in my ribs,
my skin recording every touch.
I had wings too.
Caramel and white.
I plucked them
evrytime they asked me to.
I walk alone now–
among fallen feathers.