One AMONG MANY

By Swati Basu Das

Inside a machine, I fly high like a balloon

– Airborne,

Tethered to a metal ground

Sitting on the aisle

My thoughts wander out for awhile

“We are flying thirty-six thousand feet above sea level” –

The aviator tweets

Hearing him narrate the height, my rosy heart briskly beats

Outside my porthole, the clouds drift by

Am I a bird?       

Isn’t it wry?       

A few hours later the captain chirps –

‘This lifeless motor will soon land.’

With the seat-belt sign on, my movement becomes banned

I tuck myself behind a safety belt

Such restrictions in the sky, the birds’ flight have never felt

I must now check my bag of my documents and passport

A bird never carries a bagful of records

To rove around a distant port

Outside my porthole, the clouds still drift by

Am I not a bird?

The Albatross gang squeals – ‘We enjoy this drama’

My sight soon discerps¹ the air, kissing the terra firma

 “Ladies and gentlemen we’ve safely landed”

– The pilot blew out a deep sigh.

And I tramp through a new land beneath the blue sky

– Earth-bound

Atop me, the clouds and the birds soar high

Ah! It’s wry!

1 To tear apart

Photography and content subject to Copyright

Copyright Reserved – Swati Basu Das