Was flying free, was gliding the gale;
Coloured and bright It sang a tale.
It knew not of the approaching rail,
And knew not It was so frail.
Pulsed It well, and flushed It well,
Till final day It rang the knell.
Slipping away through Its hues It fell,
For there was a master who’d just yell.
Lost in transaction, lost It Its kin,
Woke up abruptly, in a new space to win.
Hesitant, It searched a voice in the din,
That was lost as the drop of a pin.
Smile that It painted well on the face,
Became hard to maintain through the race.
Picked up and put away in a separate case,
Slowly took toll, hampering Its pace.
Was it the time that wasn’t ripe,
Or, an unprepared moment in the pipe?
Was it the colours of newer hues and types,
Or, It distanced away several wipes?
Blotted and lumped It lost Its pulse and air,
Deeds of joy, comfort or pleasure in fair.
Missed a beat, for the yester’s It did care,
For now It remained lone and rare.
A sigh and It learnt It had to flow,
Ebbs or highs, It had to row.
Smile faded a little, relaxed the brow,
Turning genuine but surely slow.
Fluttering came newer colours many,
Painted It some, sketched, but wary.
Of them liked It a few, liked Its ferry,
Followed a few, making It one out of any.
Scolded consoled chided and It was retold,
To get up, get back and just be bold.
The colours bygone visited from the fold,
It was a glimmer that It was desperate to hold.
Ecstasy calmed down, but assuaged the sallow,
Relieved a little, It turned again to the din to follow
Now pulsing and even sporting a part halo,
Taking all in the stride, the ups or the low.
A brief sojourn, was perhaps essential
To clear out all, unplanned or intentional
Tools working upon It, irrational,
To set It back again, beating and functional.
It, is nothing from the outer space or the bowl,
It, is simply the turn of life, the breathing soul.
Journey It learns is from the bird to the owl,
Plenty of colours or sounds felt, taken, left,
Or carried throughout without a foul.
