When There Is No Wind
It feels like being a bird, incarcerated behind quods crafted by multiple warped, cold steel, hanging above the ground by a single thread looped in the higher depths beyond the horizon, gravity pulling down equally like in a game of tug-of-war. Trapped within the barriers it has built around it, somehow the creature was caught in a point above that it dreamed to reach but is not able to, for the force below him is preventing him to do so.
Birds are natural aviators and air assists them to fly, but if they are asphyxiated in a demarcated place, a bird cannot serve its purpose. The notion of being able to take flight to reach its full potential with such limited opportunity to do so exploits the mind into only looking from within the space that is thought to be a permanent fate, extinguishing the light that has once brought a luminous hope in an individual’s heart.
That bird is the only captive in that cage, among other cages inside the tenebrous aviary, but as it observes others around, the bird conceives the thought that they are all similar. They warble and screech and flap their vibrant wings restrainedly in the stifling air, as if lost between the figment of imagination and reality, a fleeting perception of how much one strains to cross between unreachable boundaries. There are pinions to fly, but no skies to soar.
Wasted, trapped, and imprisoned in a leeway, seeking escape. One day, they would be violent and treat themselves as a prey when not even their own acuity can interfere, lost to the contentment of living in the dark. But you may be one of the birds that can hopefully escape.
There is a window beside the bird. Outside, there is a long array of fields, stretching beyond landscapes of mountains and grassy farmlands of wheat and spring flowers. There are its fellow birds chirping merrily in the utopia of free skies, argentine hues spilling above the unimaginable gaps of what would otherwise be called as the Dark in the aviary.
Why did I not have the chance to be there? If only the birds in here had not been foolish enough to be lured by inconspicuous menaces of the world around them, they would not have been caught between the bars. If they had not let their guard down, they would still be in liberty. The bird’s achromatic irises darted towards the view, staring directly above the sun as its eyes glazed, claws tightly perched on a piece of wood, counting each and every hushed breath beget by remorse of an imbecile.
Without the dark, we would be blind. Without light, we cannot see. Yet we should not keep living in the abyss of darkness. The contrast can be equal. Those birds feared the storms, the instability of this patch of air that had become their safe house, and the terrible weather that betides every once in a while.
When the heavens send out a hurricane, living beings have no choice but to stay indoors. Sometimes, their physical bodies are not the only ones who remain inside, but also their minds. Birds can fly amidst disasters; however, it takes a lot of energy to do so. It will be tiring, dangerous, and why would they anyway? Shelterless beings with a slim chance of survival, so they hide in dense forests. Unfortunately, that is where they get caught. Either face death in daring to cross the storms, or face isolation in weary environments. When the skies collapse and crumble and vanish into nothingness, where else will they go but disappear along?