• mansoora 45w


    On one darkest night,
    when stars were engulfed by the sky,
    I was told a story by my mom;
    The story of a girl
    who had beautiful wings,but coudn't fly
    cause they were black.

    "She was the child of night,
    born into the hands of darkness,
    recognized by not the pictures she painted,
    but by the dark hue of her skin.

    She was a melancholy song
    echoed in the valleys,
    at the corner of every streets; and
    in every bit of air whiffed."

    "She was," mom continued,
    "An angel for heaven, a star for sky,
    a pearl for sea; and
    who live in the core of
    Mother Earth's heart.

    Yet for the mob, she was
    an ugly worm
    that crept and crawled into them
    and remained unloved, unheeded.
    Little did they knew that
    she'll be a beautiful puny fly, once;
    Spreading herself between flowers,
    sucking honey from each,and she flied."
    Mom stopped.

    I remained silent for a minute
    And then asked blankly,
    "Why black is not fair?"
    My voice went to the darkness
    and dissolved in it's hands.
    Silence alone remained.