With the soft dew caressing my bare feet I used to love roaming about in our grassy meadow early in the mornings, feeling like a little princess in my own rights. Nature sure didn’t mind my my early morning vigils and my swooning imagination rather helped me in my early morning escapades. Each moment in my little kingdom passed with gentle obedience from my loyal subjects- the sleepy rose-buds, the drooping dahlias, the yawning chrysanthemums, the noble mango tree, the fanciful orchid and others. But there was a golden-heart pansy which usually tried to hide its face amidst the bushes until I discovered the red drops in its golden heart. I felt pampered, felt that I have ultimately found my own little world. A little handful of my imagination thriving in this big world of ours, the other world.
So while I was roaming one day with my naked feet feeling the cold gravelly garden soil, I waited for the sun to peek through the cobwebs that hung around the leaves of trees, fresh dew clinging from it. I had always curiously imagined the cobwebs to be the handiwork of ancient women, old with white-cloudy hair messing with their dreamy eyes, like the childhood story which tells about the old lady who spins wheel out there on the moon with silver threads from the moon. My world filled itself with fairies and ancient folk-tales as dreamy as the pages from Coleridge. Suddenly I saw a small butterfly, purple-hued. It had two drops of gold on its fragile wings just like two small leaves from an unknown plant fluttering near my palm. I opened my hand and it perched on it just as a brave knight on his horse-fearless.
We brushed off dew together, the sun lighting up its face, my wings- I recognised myself in it. I flew amidst my world- a world so dear to me, untouched by reason. The orange, yellow and red blossoms prepared the carpet on which I felt the wings in my heart, my creative psyche.
Time ticked on from my little cartoon wristwatch to an elegant metal-designed watch with neatly arranged time, so unlike the abundant-timeless childhood fantasies. One morning while I breathed in the fresh morning air and basked myself in the immature sunlight, I felt something missing. I brushed my palms on the drowsy flower buds and disturbed their sleep. But I couldn’t guess what was it that I missed. Suddenly it struck my mind, ‘the butterfly’…I missed my little butterfly. I waited and searched for it everywhere. It was nowhere- not in the sunshine, not in the rain, not in the shades of the drifting clouds, not amidst the rusty evening sky, nowhere. I got scared, I’ve lost my wings amidst nowhere.
I ran down the way and jumped into my bed crying silently. I felt the cold sheets wet under the warm tears that drew its course down my heart. I felt the pain. I missed my wings. I missed ’em. Without the wings who would tell me under the impossible circumstances that everything will be alright? How could I believe endlessly in my dreams now? What would ask me in sad sleepless nights to carve a fantasy in the starlit sky? What would make me wish innocently on the shooting-stars? I missed my wings.
But I guess, I didn’t really lose my wings. Otherwise, how can I still feel the fresh sun on my body like the warmth of love? How can I still feel purety of bliss when everything seems annoying…or how can I possibly believe in my fairy tale even when the mature world dwells in ‘practical’ thinking?