When I was little, and knew nothing of the world
I was drunk with dreams, knew I’d make it to the top.
Now I wonder: which is the right path? The roads are now too foggy,
the starting line is dim and must be thorny.
(The fairytales they poisoned us with
are breaking us.)
I’m Icarus who flew too close to the sun
and burnt his wings;
the fall has broken my back and I let out a wail.
My dreams—they are like a kite
that is snatched away by the wind
along with the ghost of me who wants to try.
They are flying high—so high—out of reach from me.
– Rtr. Michelle Perera
Share this content: