Literature Short Stories

Two Birds



Locked up in a cage once were two chirping little birds,
Poor dainty creatures had never known what fate might have brought for them.
Together they had to stand the aversion, the malignity.
Strive for their freedom, right and dignity.
Agony was eminent, slowly welling up inside.
Comfort found room, meanwhile, in one innocent, frightened mind.
The other one had known he had feathers only to fly.
Neither of them could decipher how to get ravel of the prison so vile.
One ceased to bother, found it peaceful to live inside.
The other one was disdainful, never stopped or simmered down.
Closed their eyes, both of them, at the same time.
Innocence turned blind to the outside, disdain to the cage it was caught inside.
Stayed that innocent bird inside the cage gradually shrinking, suppressing and taking hold of its senses.
Freed itself, the other bird in its mind, of the prison still there yet immaterially nonexistent.
Ruthlessly was abandoned the innocent bird by the disdainful one.
Returned it, to find the left out one, tightly gripped by the prison’s abstract walls.
In the frightful embrace was it taken by a grave, the gravestone of which read “regret”.
Took the bird a flight away to the land unknown carrying ocean of words unsaid.

  • There were chunks of expressions lingering all over the walls. Hovered over them the belligerently disquieting shadow of the blackened ticker, my heart. Dead, aloof, just not dead enough, for worse only. The tips of the numb hands stumbled over impressions the expressions had engraved; only to fail in conceiving what they had to tell. There was no resentment because they had never learned to. But there were my feet then, which had only known to escalade and never back down, carrying me to the universe parallel to my world in the cellar, equally, resolutely mine, or perhaps just me, stepping into which or being that myself, brought my senses to a halt and exalted my self above it all like it could make me defeat any adversary effortlessly, it did, it will, it belongs to Him, so do I. I’m a part of Him, too endearing for Him to let down even if I were a terrifically midget and almost an insignificant speck among those exhibiting tremendous grandeur and glare too glary for my eyes to even have a glimpse of.
  • I envisaged myself drowning, with my fists enclosing the dirt of recollection of me of yesterday in fragments. My mind convulsed while my heart slowly shrank, untangled itself to lose the synchronicity, to liberate itself from the constricting confinements of what is called reality, to float above every disquieting anguish and that was when my hands laid over something I had never felt the touch of before, with the air of connoisseur commenced the ritual of stealing away the quietness of the instrument, like they had always known how to improvise it and let it cry. Cry, cry its soul out aloud till the heavens could effortlessly hear it and bless it with their approval and applause, acceptance and absolution for which my fists had been awaiting as a signal so that they could lose the hold of the dirt and elutriate themselves. I erased and erased and erased myself till myself was vanished, perished and my own self was found.
  • She was strolling past the snow carrying pines when the wind of reminiscence started blowing in her mind. The wind started retrieving the memories she had always kept safe in her conscious which had started lingering in her sub-conscious too, by then. Each so vivid and clear that she could almost live them again whenever she recalled’em. They had the same impact on her as they had had, years ago.¬†She couldn’t help drowning in the ocean of those memories, losing herself and feeling helpless while her vision got blurred for a moment and she danced joyously in the other. As she rambled past the streets she could see eyes peering at her, faces bearing smiles. She suddenly started feeling diffident. A wave of quiver shook her awake and she returned to their world. She could see those smiles mutating and appearing as sneers to her. She used to ask people about the people who none knew existed, about incidents that had never happened. “She is a maniac”, this is what everyone said about her. She used to keep herself engrossed in the world of her own, in her world of hallucinations, with people only she knew, making and living in the stories of her own, ever since she lost her family in a car accident.


Written by: Shahwar Malik

Institution: COMSATS

Leave a Reply