What would the Eagle see,
From miles and meters high.
Fighting against the wind,
Searching for preys drifting by.

Would my problems look as ginormous,
Or would my achievements seem too low?
Would my efforts hold any cradle
Beneath it's feathery shadow?
To the Eagle in the sky, how small could I be?

We are beings doomed by and with greed,
While the Eagle sharpens what it needs.
Albeit fraudulent, we show care
It sheds old claws; prefering the air
Just how far can the Eagle see?

So even the hot days can end,
Clouds can cover the sky as if nothing remained.

We are all hypocrits in mind's eye
We hate the sun for being hot, but desire it's warmth
We hate summer when winter's just as cruel
And hate the rain for pouring;
But talk about how the soil touches our soul.

I am a little older now,
Neither grew taller nor became bigger,
Just a little rusted cogs here and there,
Joint with a dimmer shine of dreamy eyes.

In many places I have been
Novels and books I've read.
Yet not much have I seen,
Not far I could tread.

And then the slower my marches became,
No strength could I muster.
My thoughts were sunk in a haze by then,
No forward could I luster.

So I'm just a little old now,
Though sinking, my heart hasn't drowned now.
But it's cold here and I'm scared.
"Hope it won't be too late to ask for help
I'm afraid"

When walking down a busy road,
I saw everyone follow a line untold.
That line never was there,
But remained as the only thing fair.

Since then I see lines again
And again in one place or two.
A seat, coordinated for every little grain,
And none, ever, misplaced in the cue.

In buildings anew, among flocks and mass
Lines cast a shadow to view, a petite lash.

Sometimes they shift on their own, in quiet,
But change the crux of the heavy watch.
The line was never there before,
Yet I seem to see it anywhere and whole.

The line never remains the same,
It's just drawn in a wiggle, a bit unfair—
With no aesthetic in mind to tame,
It even contradicts its defining lair.

Yet, the system lies in this indecisive string,
That's unable to even tighten its own being.
An irony to the worldly rules,
Linear confusions jolt its screws.

The breeze ran cold last night
Under raven duvet, memories went gray.
In empty hills where my desires lay;
Rain flooded my rationale insight.

I was cold even before the winds blew,
And rain came—an obligation too.

Unlike any other day, I wasn't rigid today.
I was breezy and free; bent wherever I wished to be.
I've been wet, I've been greased;
I've been lathered, I've been seized.

I'm black, I'm brown; I'm also blonde: like a crown.
I'm styled, different in each, and sometimes far for another's reach.
I've my friends, young and old;
They can be straight, or have twisted desires to uphold.

Some of my friends leave my side; others go gray.
Our roots are cruel; it ignores our cries.
We may as well perish; if left dry.

I get cut in half or quarter; in a fortnight or two.
You'd assume I say put; I do not.
I fear no pairs of steel; I'm not alone.
I, am a forest of sable strings, zenith this body whole.

She keeps misery on her side,
Time and again her wits break a tide.
In prairie fields her mind runs;
With mindful and curious puns.

There she goes skimming through
For something uncalled but yet true.
Her eyes, rolling up and down,
Wearing dark circles like a crown.

Wonders and questions here and there;
Their answers dipped in sweet éclair.
She savors each flavor whole,
With no curiosity to pull a toll.

In Euphoria she goes beyond the skyline
Curious and ecstatic, a feminine Feline.