Flying Like Birds

Do birds fear dying while flying? Do they feel their last fall as they crash on the ground? The soft grass in their wings? Or the hard and cold or hot pavement stone or rooftop? Do they look at the sky in the end and wish they could feel the air once again?

Where do they go and die? They go and die in the silent dark places? Our of sight? A lonely death? Hopping on one leg, dragging the other wing through the mud, wanting to fly but the muddy ground has now become their new home.

No matter how much you spend your life flying around, you’ll be buried in the ground in the end.

Like the fishes in the sea, they swim and swim, but eventually get buried in the ground, how do fishes die in the water? Do they see the sunlight sparkling on the surface of the ocean from below, as their fins give out and they fall through the waves, the ray of light piercing the water, blinds them for a second, as they fall into the dark depths where they never even dared to swim around of, do they feel fear of the abyss that swallows them?
I would, I do.

I feel like the bird falling with broken wings, looking up at the sky for the last time wanting to fly, not wanting to hit the ground, not wanting a new home, not wanting the soft grass or the hard rooftops and concrete roads,

I feel like the fish drowning as their lungs give out, water becoming poison as it were to every other animal, oh how you laughed at them when they drowned, gasping for breath when you could breathe so easily, and now you understand, the water filling up your body, but it’s not helping you live, everything going dark but your eyes on the sunlight on the surface, for the last time, you can feel the darkness coming all around you from behind, fear settling in your heart as the final thing you’re going to feel on this earth, don’t be afraid, you were always meant to go there, to the place you’re afraid of.

It’s not a new home, it’s your old one.