Let Me Fly Away

It starts with a drop of liquid. And gets forged in the iron of blood. The steel of milk strengthens it. And the magic of a bond is formed.

We call them brother and sister. Twins. Tied by the same destiny. Siamese. At times. With their backs tied together. Or their hands. Or feet. Or head. One holding the heart of the other. The other living off the kidney of the one. Let us fly away. Destiny hand in hand. A bond. Tied by the force of nature. The will of God.

Twins. Not always. Time gets sandwiched in between. But still. Sowed in the soil of the same blood. Drenched in the water of the same milk. Tied by the handcuffs of love. Destiny often like the sine and the cosine curves. Starting at the same point. Then diverging. Then converging. Diverging again. Converging again. Until. Death comes in between. And sounds the justice of its own wisdom.

Brother. Sister. At times they bloom in different gardens. Flowers from different branches. But the gardener is one. Step, they say. Step-brother. Step-sister. So much in common. Yet often. Striving to differ. The hammer of society falls. The thunder of norms strike. Who is legitimate? Which one illegitimate? The blood in common. That boils. Like a whirlpool. Which one is chasing which? Which current is ahead? Which one behind? Let us fly away. They say. Without saying. So common. Yet so different.

At times two parallel streets. Run side by side. Different blood run through these different veins. The hemoglobin fails to agree. On the DNA report. But the milk sticks. Them both together. The relationship of milk. A mother. Foreign to one. Or both. But a shadow large enough for both. A garden the size of motherhood. Few believe. In this relationship. One of choice. Let us fly away. Together. They decide. Towards similar horizons.

A tree it is. As I look at it. My eyes strain. Scrutinize. Search. For every branch. It is a tree. Of relations. Brother and sister. The permutations sprout here and there. Majestic branches. With open arms. Embracing the sky. Some others intertwine, intermingle. Others stand far apart. Some barely stand out. Almost completely nude. Of any green. Of any leaves.

I continue watching at the tree. Mesmerized. I see them. The twins. The Siamese. And I marvel at the grace of God. Let them fly away. I seek. I seek for my destiny. I look for my name. I seek the name. For a bond.

The step-relationships. The milk ones. I find them. And my eyes look up further. Meandering into the entrails of the branches. Dodging a leaf here and there. Until light begins to fail company. And tread on the path of infidelity.

I search. Awe gives place to anxiety. Slowly. I search and search. But do not find. Where am I? Where is she? I look at the ground. For any broken branches. Or branches sawed off. I hold my heart. In my hands. Tightly clasped. Too tightly. Maybe. As it staggers and almost stops. Maybe that’s why I feel the pain. Deep inside my heart. A bomb exploding. The gases of agony expanding my thoracic cage.

My eyes well. As a thin line of water grows. The tip of the iceberg. Standing off the tsunami in my heart. I look up. At the tree of relations. Let me fly too. Up. Towards the sky. Towards the pride of the sky. Her name. Her truth. The truth. The destiny. Not in mine.

My blood and hers. Like petrol and alcohol. Two liquids refusing to merge. Floating in parallel. Always. Irrespective of any chaos one might instill. Milk from different origins. Nothing in common. Absolutely nothing. Time sandwiched in between. And distance. And society. And the norms. And everything. And. Everything. Including anything. That remains. After we count everything. Except.

A desire. The bomb that explodes and explodes. Without end. I seek the branches. I seek the name. I seek my happiness. I seek the truth. Anguish gives way to despair. The thin line of liquid gets the permanganate of salt and threatens to overflow in response.

Where am I? Who am I? What is this bond that I seek? What is this name that my eyes long for? What is this pain that refuses to ditch my heart?

I look up at the sky. Let me fly. Please let me fly. Oh God. Along with these branches. One with them.

The tree stands. And looks at me. It has been here. Always. Keeping company with time. And nothing has ever changed. Nor ever will. And I know that. Very well. But the brains are enclosed somewhere else. In the cephalic cavity. And the heart knows nothing of reason. And it longs. More and more. And gets seeped in the moving sands of fantasy.

Let me fly away at least. I pray. Let me fly away. Far far away. From this tree. From reality. I lift my head up. And close my eyes. Determined to break the barrier between brains and heart. And imbibe the later in the impudence of reason.

And the tear overflows. It falls. In slow motion. The round droplet slowly getting enlarged. Like the oval rugby ball. The tip trying to drag away. The tail trying to stay back. Neither realizing that they are one. Not even when they hit the ground together. As one elongated droplet.

Let me fly away. From my desire. From this craving. From this pain. I am resolute. Even when the drop seeps into the soil. And my heart and brain pray to God. That this be the drop that makes my branch grow.

Author's Note

Explores the relationship between a brother and a sister...

But this is equally a very much personal writing with a specific message to someone who might recognize herself within...

Reviews

[CT]

It's quite fitting that this is the last of your read requests I have backed up, as this is the zenith that all of your previous works I've experience so-far have been building to. This piece is so deep, so full of emotion and energy and imagery- it truly realizes the immense potential I felt was lying just beneath the surface of your other writing.
First of all, I love- absolutely head-over-heels adore- your use of short, clipped sentences throughout the whole thing, giving it am almost poetic quality. Each line is brief, to the point, and does a wonderful job of driving the point home.
The metaphor of the tree is an interesting addition as well, and one I feel only strengthens and adds richness to the story.
A wonderful piece of work. Keep it up. :)

[Jvonne]

It’s a very interesting piece. I think that you should go over the grammar though. Some sentences could use some reconstruction in order to make them easier to read. (I’m not a professional writer, just my opinion) it’s still a good story with potential.

[Coyote Poetry]

A powerful story. You create a strong and interesting tale. The more I read. The more I needed to know. You can use the language with great skill. The story got stronger and sadder. Thank you for sharing your excellent story. I do appreciate.
Coyote

[ken burke]

so deep and graphic i really enjoyed it