Lost Identity

There is a bird nest near my window
Every day the mother goes around flying
To find a little worm to feed its babies
And I watch from inside
The world which builds itself around my home
Every dawn at 5
And goes to sleep when the dusk meets the dying sun
I try to be the bird too
Imitating voices of the little sparrow
Because it's easy losing identity
Like throwing the sea shells back into the sea
And watch the waves jostle and take them to the new shore
Where a kid awaits to hold them and listen to the little voices trapped inside.
I have become more layered over the years
As moon waxes and wanes with the shade of my skin
And the sea rises with each breath I take
I am the mother who have listened enough the cries of her infant
To differentiate between the pain and hunger
But I have never been the one to fly
So I build my wings from the rags of the thatched roof of my home
And take a leap of faith from the terrace
Only to find that sometimes winds dictate the choreography of falling bodies
I let the wind decide
Where I crash
Like the mother sparrow
Who didn't return home one day in the winds
So I kept making voices just to let the little sparrows know
That their nest will always be the womb
A safety drenching their hearts
Because you see lost identities are stuck to the rear of the trees
Shouting
Screaming
Ululating out loud how their skin melted to the ground
And horizons stood knocking at their doors
To gift them the lost light of the fading sun
But when none returned
The trees became the ghost graveyards
Standing large with their branches hanging over the fences of the decaying bones
And when the night comes
The sparrows learn to fly by themselves
Sometimes after all the generations that never bade a goodbye to handwritten customs
It's better not to become
Same as father or mother
Sometimes it's better to leave home
And fly across the naked skies
Just to find that the most one can get through vulnerability is not death
But the fear of sailing too far to the place of no return
And when that happens
Know not to look back
To the ancestors who demand pain to be felt
I know this because
The little birdies made a choice after their mother died
They don't return anymore after one day they flew far away
To the place where identities weren't lost
To the place where they knew there mother would have wanted them to be
And I am happy
Because I too have learnt to fly.