A Winter's Tale of Wings and Whispers

That day,
a snowy chill gripped the air.
Endless flakes descended softly,
coating the earth
in a pristine white blanket.

Colors faded,
consumed by the snow’s purity.

From my window,
I watched children’s laughter bloom.
Snowballs hurled,
forts built,
their joy boundless.

Then, suddenly—
someone spotted the sky.
Heads turned upward,
eyes seeking the source.

I followed their gaze—
a feather floated,
adrift on the wind’s gentle current.

Its color obscured,
blanketed by clinging snowflakes.

It rose, it fell,
dancing erratically,
along with rhythm of breeze.

Below, the children raced,
hands outstretched,

Sometimes running ahead, sometimes stopping,
Then looking up, they would turn back.
clamoring for the prize.

But the wing, oblivious to all this,
Plays with the wind,
Moving forward in its own rhythm.

I wondered:
From where had it come?

I looked at the sky, everything clear—
No bird, no winged creature.
Then where did this wing come from?

A hawk, perhaps, in pursuit of prey,
tore it in its ferocity.
Or a wandering bird,
lost in this storm,
shed it in despair.

But the children cared not—
to them, it was a trophy

grab it to run far.

The wind dances in a playful chase, 

Awakening joy in children's hearts with grace

I too am waiting for the moment.

Amid the snowy chaos,

Just moments ago, they were playing together,
Now they've joined in some unknown race.

I watched from my window,

The changing weather, the shifting moods.
helpless as innocence unraveled.

In quiet thought, I ponder where wings arise,

Amidst the icy storm, a bird flies,

Forgetting its nest, lost in the fray,

Shaking off snow, it seeks a way.

Restless, helpless, directionless.
But far on the horizon—everything is empty.

Where can anything be seen clearly?
The weather is such—it's settled into its own mood.

Hearing the sudden noise, my attention was diverted—
Children, wildly one on top of the other,
Not sure whose hands the wing fell into,
Or if they were just scratching at the ground.

No—someone raised a hand,
Running with the wing in sight,
But another pushed him down,
Snatching the wing, showing his own bravery.

Two or three others joined in,
Trying to protect him from the others.

Alliances formed, rivalries sparked.
A game turned battlefield,
laughter devolving into cries.

Snowballs, memories of joy in the air, 

Thrown with a playful spirit, a delightful affair.

Now they lie in wait, with aim so keen, 

As foes emerge, in a rivalry unseen.

The echoing laughter turned into screams and shouts.
Someone was taunting, while another was irritated.
One was making faces, and another was snarling.
The playing field transformed into a battlefield.

They began grabbing at each other,
One pulling clothes, another grabbing hair,
One slapping, another punching.

I stood by the window, stunned,
Rushed quickly to the door,
Two or three neighbors also came out from their homes.
In the game, time had brought them from here to there.

One child was crying, another was complaining,
One was brushing off clothes, another was making faces.
Slowly, everyone returned to their homes.

When calm returned, the children retreated,
leaving behind, a world eerily silent.

As I turned back towards home,

found the feather, peeking out from a snowball.

Shaking it clean, I gazed at its simple beauty.

Far away, I saw two eyes 

perched on a tree—hawk or bird, 

I couldn’t tell.

Could it be the same hawk, satisfying its hunger,
Taking pleasure in the chaos?

Blinking his eyes, he watched,
The joyful battlefield of the children.

Could it be the lost bird,
Tired and weary, sitting on a tree,
Terrified, watching the chaos?

A snowball formed in my hand.
I aimed for the branch,
but froze.

The shadow vanished.
I lowered my arm.

The feather slipped from my fingers,
buried once more in the snow.

Returning quietly to my room,
Then watched again,
The snow falling like needles.
Now, I too felt a little scared and uneasy.

Lest I see a wing again,
Falling from the void, swaying in the air,
Burdened by its own weight—
I close the window and shut it out.

Outside, snowflakes danced.
Inside, my heart grew heavy.

I turn my face away from the truth,
How restless my mind has become.
Just moments ago, it was so cheerful,
And now, it has become so agitated.

The feather, the games,
the storm—
all now etched into the season’s tale.

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