On through the distance,
The bird looks upto the yonder sky.
Here go my moments of peace, of
Freedom, she thinks to herself.
She voices her concerns to the sky,
The almighty.
O father thou art in heaven!
Help me, give me the courage to
Fight this nemesis, I shall now have to
Rego through once I retreat back
From this land of hills, o' tranquilty.
Back to the familiar yet unfamiliar
Coast of sea.

Our father who art in heaven.
O father, the son and the holy spirit,
Give this white pigeon, peace to
Achieve the fight she shall face on the
Battleground.
What has this come to?
I hold the world but as the world,
A stage where every man must play a
Part and mine a sad one.

The play is a vast one,
Where every man has been assigned
A role, a character.
They all come and go,
No one but the hawkers and ravens
Remain.

Plays are meant to change with each
Sequence,
Yet this one remains the same in
Monochromatic, monotonous shades.
Everything black and white,
Of pen and paper, and her gray shades
Poured over.
Various shades try coming onto paper.
None last.
Only her 50 shades of gray do.
They gray, black, white mix.
Giving a somber tone to the paper,
To the play.
Dark clouds cover the stage,
There is a hope of silver lining.
No one reaches fit the stars.
There is no silver, only slivers
Remaining around.
The sky is signalling of a thunderstorm
On route.
People must evacuate, they do.
Only two remain,
One gets sick, other plays mother
Taking the MA in her name too
Seriously.

Characters come,
Perform their roles, leave their mess,
And go.
No one remains.
Everything falls.
Mountains of ice, of glaciers come
Crashing onto her shoulders.
The world upon her shoulders.
The pigeon is once more sad.
From white, slowly turning into
Off white, then pale white, eventually to
Shades of grey.
And they merge, creating an act of one.

Only god looks upon her.
Only god sees what they're going
Through.
He sees the clouds, the water dripping,
The paintings changing,
And he knows.
She knows, they know.
They're watching. They're there.
They shall swoop their hand in,
Their golden aura surrounding the
Pigeon as her wings crack and she
Falls onto ground.
She falls onto their hand.
She is safe;
They're there.
She'll heal.
Adishakti — Durga
Will bring her no harm.
And so now that the white pigeon has
To depart the hilly terrain,
She knows she is safe and that she'll be
Alright.

That however doesn't stop her from
Craving azaadi.
Longing freedom.
Longing affection.
Longing love.
Free her from the shackles of
Responsibilities!
Her feet are bleeding;
They're too painful —
The shackles of responsibility.
The feet no longer dance,
Only work.
The hands no longer write or play
Music,
Only supervise.
The mouth no longer silent,
Continues to speak.
Exhaustedness is the only
Acquaintance, companion around.
Will she get Azaadi?
Maybe.
Maybe in future.
She'll long fot it 'til then.
To be a bird, to be a reincarnation o'
Herself once more.

-Ridhima Joshi