I can feel

The sparrow takes a flight against an orange sky. As the evening sun pierces it's rays through the clouds and kisses the sparrows little feathers, images of a young man flash in the lake below. The sparrow lives two lives. Or does that young man live two lives?

He's young yet wounded. Not physically, but emotionally. Expectations, desires, fatigue and an incessant drainage of energy amidst toxicity under unusual circumstances. As he washes his face and looks into the mirror he hears a faint song coming from the balcony . He searches for his music, his voice.

The sparrow talks with the sky as if it were not only his home but his lover. They talk about the infinite scope of life, the elixir of hope. Who could stop one if the wings were spread in fearlessness? In such moods the journey becomes that of acceptance and not of fighting one's own emotions.

As he finally sits on his desk and gathers the fragments of a soul to study he takes a deep breath. Sometimes it requires courage to gather our own fragments. It's important, for it makes us realise what we truly are, how beautiful we look- raw and naked. 

The sparrow arrives on the tree which it calls his home. Is it really the home? The sparrow questions what and where is its home in reality? The nest in the tree? The wind? It's breath? Or his chest which constantly sees it's breath? The sparrows eyes twinkle while it gently rubs it's small bossom.

He starts writing his journal and begins his work. He misses his mother's gentle lap, his father's firm hands and his late grandmothers trembling soft voice chanting mantras. Every traveller who starts his journey misses home, he did too. As he wrote he begun dedicating each word to his loved ones and piece by piece their blessings showered as his work transitioned beyond just work, it was selfless magic now.

The sparrow prepares to rest in its cozy nest now. The night is bitterly cold yet the sparrow brings a subtle smile, like silver jewellery. The equanimity inside the sparrows metaphysical cosmos glowed brightly and the cold night watched in silence the small sparrows enormous soul.

As he finally finishes his work, many hours have already passed and the sunlight of dawn like a shy smile upon the horizon falls on his desk. He searches for his lost identity. He takes his morning coffee and goes to the window. A sparrow flys down the tree branch and sits on the window grill. He finally finds himself. He says to himself - "I can feel".