A small sparrow it deemed,
too frail to fight back.
lacking the power to withhold the attack.
Had put up courage it knew not of.
This fight was lost, but the damage was done.
The frail creature vowed to catch up,
For at first he backed up,
now with thirst unquenched,
it set off.
Each day, it flew.
Flying higher than its comrades,
Crossing the boundaries of those who fell back.
But a glance it seemed,
of a peacock, it deemed,
far too beautiful to see,
Had made it stop its journey.
And so as it approached it,
returning from the skies it deemed its own.
The peacock vanished, and the roof above closed.
Nowhere to go,
lost in its journey.
It fought for what it lost,
but now it floats,
with deviations of suffering,
its loneliness fluttering,
as the wings that it grew.
And it grew old,
Losing that which it once owned.
The pursuit had kept it blinded for long enough,
sparrows were never meant to fly high anyways
This is attributed to perhaps a general thought that a song had brought about. Perhaps it is the state of my sentiments, perhaps of a what-could-have been pursuit I lost. Nonetheless, I hope you enjoy the read.