She grew feathers and the world stared at her. They were beautiful- but unusual- and that was enough for them to narrow their eyes at her. She drowned in a puddle of gossip and resurfaced only to be met by knives and daggers attacking her slow growing wings. There was ice and there were rocks, there was freezing and pelting, but one thing there was not- acceptance. What had she done to be shunned like this? Been different? That too accidentally? Her wings were battered and so was her hope. And thus began her story…

A dream, however small, however unique, is looked upon with criticisms. Therefore, dreaming is for daredevils. One does not simply dream without being pulled down by the leg and thrown to the ground at least five times or till it is forgotten- whatever comes second. It is a sin to let your imagination go wild, and pursuing those thoughts is fatal. As a kid, we were taught to dream and to soar high, to let our imaginations run wild and to reach the apex. It sounded so refreshing, so hopeful, and definitely amazing- like the world was ours to take. But soon we realised that dreaming is for children, we follow the crowd, we stay on the curb, we walk straight. We don’t fall because we don’t try. We match our steps, and keep our eyes on the ground (because isn’t that where they are supposed to be?)

When her wings don’t cease to grow

They put her up for show

And everyone plucks a feather each.

She is put into a cage,

So she won’t fly away

Far out of their reach.

Let’s face it. Dreaming isn’t permitted, but achieving is. So be what you can’t think of, and you shall survive (approved by the Society.)

 

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