Featherless Angels

“People of the world don’t look at themselves, and so they blame one another.” - Rumi He struggles to forget that little boy anticipating his hero's return. Staring out through a dark window, wondering if sincere stars would show him a path home but he was a man not worthy of such a reception. Guess we don't get a choice, where and to whom we are born. The fatherless are like angels without feathers. Left behind in the silence of sins. In a lonely childhood playground, collecting shards from broken glass swings. His father was an illusive saviour to so many, but played a villain against his growth. How could one be so ignorant, unaware a child needs a role model to guide like a shepherd and his flock. It's a struggle being a black sheep in a white world of woollen hearts, wandering like a lost soul searching to belong - neglected by those too intoxicated with their vices. Absent in adolescence, life's lessons can be harsh, with bitter blood bleeding in stubborn stains. Now his ghost sings sad songs in absent dreams - will a mind perpetually be plagued by visions? People play the blame game, pointing fingers in angry accusations, about who hurt who, but there are no victors in emotive diversions. In misconception and misunderstanding, the misunderstood leave without a goodbye. Sometimes we don't get an opportunity to apologise, so some voices are lost forever. When there is nothing but silence, a child gifts his seat on the throne of forgiveness - because he is not a composition of parental chromosomes. In his father's darkness, he may recite his lyrics, as occasionally some sorrows resurface, but his mother's compassionate tears teach him how to spread light. Everything he is today, is inspired by not mirroring sins of his father's past. Maybe that's why he does not seek black horizons. only sincere skies, to observe the moon and stars.