Why would that beautiful winged bird run?
Unaware of its wings, or all its wisdom shun?

Could it not see the beautiful infinite sky?
Only crawl, walk and run, will it never fly?
Birds, small and big, in awe of its wings
Surprised, how happily it walks and sings
Its never too late to start, wiser birds say
'To move on ground is a child's play
God blessed you with wings to fly,
Running makes your dear ones shy.'

The bird never seemed to pay heed
Will tree never grow out of the seed?
Grounded the bird practised to live,
He couldn't fly, he was forced to believe
Inspiring thoughts and it did take an airy jump
Far from a flight, it was a little ****
Afraid to fall, the bird never flew
And slowly, was left out of its crew
When you fly, your wings are put to test
On ground, it could afford to rest

Were those wings to go in vain?
Or fooled, to quit the sky to choose plain?
Why would that beautiful winged bird run?
Being unaware, or all its wisdom shun?

We walked 500 kilometres,
We are not marathon runners,
We ran only for food and family.

The walk was long,
But our minds were strong,
Hunger came along.

Hunger put us to faint;
Public watched us like saint,
We were treated as a quaint.

The going got tough;
Our foot became rough,
We felt the tiring walk was enough.

Tears poured in our heart,
Disease ripped the whole world apart,
But humankind was selfish and smart.

Public and rulers slept,
We remained helpless and wept,
Banks disturbed us with debt.

Fishes in the sea cry,
The eaters put it to fry,
Our hunger cries were buried,
Towards our homes we hurried.

Frogs rested in the shadow of a snake,
Hunger tested us during this corona quake.

Corona turned a manhunt tiger,
Killed us with its sharp tooth of hunger,
Our hearts filled with demonic anger,
Hunger kept disturbing us longer.

Our corpses were a useless exhibition,
Media wolves framed our deaths a suicide,
We had no place to reside,
Train tracks became our new home inside.

Our hunger and pains remain unheard
Ruthless rulers find our sufferings awkward

Our hunger creates leaders and robbers,
Rulers filled our society with backstabbers,
We will emerge as leaders and food feeders,
The globe will become our followers and readers.

To all living beings we will feed,
To our future generations we will become a seed,
If hunger kills a human like a crop-killing ****,
Our hands will destroy the humanimals with greed.

tickling the rocks
dancing around woodworms
drinking tequila with dandelions
the floor is 
no place
for a young fern with ambition

beanstalk
said the big unfurling fern to the little unfurling fern
beanstalk all the way to the ozonosphere
if you endure
and you harvest the best sunbeams
and nitrogens
and you cheat at quizzes
you'll climb as high as that great rose
and you'll be happy and
strong
and powerful

but I am happy
said the little unfurling fern to the big unfurling fern
and I don't wish to be strong and powerful
and that great rose I've heard is a real
pig
and he doesn't share his Easter eggs
and he has no pride in his hedges
and he plays bad music really loud on
buses

this floor is the floor but it is
my world
and I like the woodworms
and the two leafed clovers who don't know their
androecium's from their
gynoecium's
and the dandelion - well
he drinks too much tequila but he has a 
strong heart
and if the world was on fire and everything was lost he'd share his
last
mini eggs
with all of us.

it is true - that I am small
but in my scrubby wisdom I know I know
that it is better
to stay down low
among cheap friends
and dance with ugly woodworms
and tell stories to bluebells
and play flute with the clovers
than it is
to grow tall
and handsome
and have only the spiteful rose for a friend
and have to listen
all day
to *******
Morrissey.

now there's a lad
said the big unfurling fern to the little unfurling fern
as the dandelion racked up the tequilas.

what are you waiting for, little bird?
the day has just begun, there was an angel
at 5th street and she told me to say hi to you,
little bird. what’s your plan for today?

you cannot sit around and wait for a suitor to offer words of praise,
you must learn to sing your own.
you will not get a thousand retweets on that little bird app but you must
do, anyway. do, anyhow. do, do. i do.

i bear with me no key to help you flee
there will not be a kind knight to hear your plea

o little bird, remind me
of your plans of jailbreak last night, speak
to me, have you learned to bend metals with your beak?
will you set yourself free?

Tired flames
Still burn, though they struggle
Tired flames, The wind is to come thy way
And fight you shall, to keep thy light

To the heavens one cries for mercy
Only to be met with rain
Tired flames
Struggle, struggle
They come for your light

Such a double-edged sword is hankering;
lending way to most useful ambition
that gives inspiration to musicians.
It also can subvert our pure mindset;
corrupting our light so tragically,
as it sadly pits us against our own.
Envy is only evil when our tone
turns to tempered despise as our eyes set
upon those without any sense of debt.
We wish for positivity in life;
no stress, no hatred, no sadness, no strife.
Yet, without those joys, desires do beset
when we covet pleasures from each other,
peace and love, will our jealousy smother.

This is the death of ambition.

Gather round' come on! Let's mourn our past together. Let's mourn what we could've been. Just for a little while.

I was 14, I was naive...and the worst part, was that I was in love.

I was ambitious...and that's a dangerous feeling for a 14 year old girl who would move mountains for someone she just met on the internet.

There's this thing that all the movies about young love just don't seem to get....I mean, why I haven't I seen any movies about two teenage girls falling in love, moving across the country, going to college and having a quarter life crisis together?

I mean...that might be a niche audience.

So the scary thing about the death of ambition, is that it dies slowly. Overtime...months and years turn into decades wasted. Unhappiness, contentment.

That's word's always scared me...content.

It defines a time when you stop trying. I don't know what I'm more afraid of...being content...or never...ever feeling that way.

So, this is the death of ambition. Slowly, crawling it's way to your core. Suffocating. Deadly.