The Misfit

The Misfit

The rustic pigeon had a rainbow scarf
that it proudly used to show off
Sometimes it sat on the window sill
sometimes it tiptoed on the rooftop

Though it came from a far off place
It settled down on a concrete space
Often it spread its velvet wings
to bring in sprigs and leafy things.

One day a little feather fell with a start
From a place near the pigeon’s heart
The air was thick in the unknown town
so it stuck on a branch when it fell down

With gruffy leaves the branch was dry
Scared, the little feather began to cry
The warmth of wings it missed a lot
Separation was a painful thought

As the time flew the feather lost hope
It learnt to endure…it learnt to cope
Taunted for the unrefined dialect it spoke
The misfit feather’s spirit just broke

Still it survived, though hurt and aloof
Life doesn’t need the burden of proof
Those who shame others have opaque eyes
Why bother about fake opinions and advice

The feather was soft with a soul of steel
It loved itself, the wounds began to heal
Whenever it felt lonely it hugged itself tight
while dreaming of the warmth of home each night.

© Taruchaya

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