It flattered its wings yet again in hope, only to fall hard on the ground. I stood nearby & observed it closely. The red mud dirtied its wings. It must have been a beautiful bird once but its beauty was hidden behind the worries and frustration of not being able to fly. It felt suffocated on the ground. It raised its head to watch the skies. Far away in neighbourhood to the heavens, flew its friends with grace. It felt choaked. I felt choaked too! A tear ran down its eye. I came out of my hiding place and asked her "What's wrong? What's keeping you from flying?", she replied "My wing is torn". It's tears made a little pool of water between the two of us. My eyes were moist too. I wondered if some of those tears were mine. I stood there helpless.
The day gracefully surrendered to the comforting evening. I had watched it all day. Gradually her efforts of flying had reduced. She lay motionless in the dirty mud. Suddenly a stabbing fear overpowered me. What if it gave up trying? The knot in my throat became uglier as I watched her. I felt sick to my heart. I could taste the feeling she went through in my mouth. Was I waiting there just to watch her die?