Rhythm of Fate -I -The Jailbird's Song-

 

One day, when the chains of words were broken,
She walked away, where a new love had spoken.
The threshold lay silent, hollow and bare,
For when first lust ripens, love claims its share.
Then parents who nurtured, through childhood’s long span,
May seem but as equals in life’s fleeting plan.
Their lives they'd devoted, each care and each plea,
But passion’s strong current flows wild and flows free.
Sighs soared high before the tears could dry.

Living, yet as one already dead nearby,
She stood prepared for parting’s sacred sting.
Too young, perhaps, for what true love should bring.
For children, they say, 'til their twenty-first year,
Lack insight that tempests of feeling make clear.
In shame, the heads before her bowed so low—
Erasing the daughter they thought they would know.
Though the threads of kinship were torn by her choice,
A smoldering ember still echoed its voice.

In the same spring, on a different, hopeful shore,
Two souls walked together, and asked for no more.
They dreamt quiet futures, in whispers so light,
Filling silences tender with day and with night.
While to one, he became the wide world, it is true,
He offered his hand to another one, new.

Love’s celebration curdled—no grace, no ring—
Only bitterness brewed beneath everything.
Into snares of betrayal her spirit did slide,
Whispering low, “If not for me, then denied.”
Behind veiled windows in the cyber domain,
She morphed to a jailbird—wing-clipped by her pain.
Clicking in silence, each keystroke a cry,
Her cage not of iron, but of pixels and lie.

The jailbird sings not of freedom or flight,
But of lovers’ illusions that vanish by night.
Trapped in the echoes of choices once made,
Her voice is a shadow where music decayed.

Is it fate’s cold decree or a lover’s sharp fury?
Homes now resound with the ache and the flurry
Of fractured connection, of families apart—
Time will remember that faraway heart.
Bathed in the shadow where lost love held sway,
Perhaps a wise parent would've paved a safer way?
For when love transforms to disaster so deep,
Is it a flame in the dark that must falter and sleep?

Yet still in the silence, a faint rustling wing—
A jailbird remembering the hope of a spring.
And maybe, just maybe, beyond all this pain,
She’ll lift her eyes skyward and try flight again.