Be It

Be it If it chooses to fly back to the old sights; To the shattered lands, dried flowers, Sunburnt darkness, dying stars. And be it If it turns its back To a new world of bliss Or another catastrophe? Be it If its happiness lives in reviving What is left behind, And could never become what it had been once, A 'past' is what all is left of it. Be it If it trust itself to an extent of Creating a whole new bridge out of the ashes -Ashes that desire some blooming buds Or flowing air Or swaying seas. Be it If it wants to end its eternity In something that has faded away, Or is crucified by the cruel creeds Of time. Be it If it flies in its own freedom of dreams A heart- is why it is named so, maybe. Let it live Before it dies in the flood of realization And wakes to the barren lands. So be it, if it...