Written by Nikita Das
I dream of it a lot—
of flying higher and higher,
until all of my sorrows disappear from my sight.
I dream of flying,
even after knowing I don’t have the wings for it.
I look at my charred limbs.
I see the ugliness,
the horrifying reality of my distorted fate.
I feel choked. Shaken. Broken.
And yet again, I dream of freedom—
of the blue, blue sky, far out of my reach.
I am a fool who doesn’t learn.
And so I find myself on the edge again,
swinging back and forth,
hoping for my misery to end.
I dream of flying,
and I try it once more—
the high jump and crashing defeat.
And the loop continues.
Text © Nikita Das
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