Roots are my source: nourishing me with life-blood,
Giving me my ground, they’re the cause of my being.
Wings are my aspirations: they take me places,
Giving me my purpose, they’re the reason for my being.
But the struggle goes on,
Of roots and wings…
Roots want to keep me rooted,
They ask me to keep close to the background,
And remain bonded by an invisible thread.
Wings, though, will have none of it.
They call me to break-away and let-go,
Flow with the destiny and explore new horizons,
Fly high and touch the skies where angels dare to tread.
Roots fear the unknown and care for my protection.
Wings dread mediocrity, inertia and stagnation.
For eternity, they have pulled me in different directions,
Tormented my soul, tore me from within, those tussles and tensions.
In life, there have been choices to make,
The kind that’d make me or break.
Never knew why I’ve had this tendency:
For all that they have given,
For all my love, longing and respect,
It’s not the roots but wings that's caught my fancy.
That I found wings so appealing,
I confess, has often left me with a guilty, almost sinful feeling.
However, there is something that’s always made me wonder:
“The roots support me, but what lies thereunder?
Why is it so that even before I set-out on my wings,
I’m already up and above the ground,
So-much higher than everything around?”
Today, I have decided to dig deep,
unlock the secret that the roots so closely keep.
So entrenched and entangled, are these mighty strands,
I can’t see a thing but keep searching with my hands.
"Wait a moment"; I feel a strange soft, fluffy touch,
I move my hand around, to be sure of what I’ve found.
These indeed are feathers,
Belonging to a pair of wings, long retired in peace,
Having flown as high as they could,
Covering many a miles, braving a few rough weathers.
It’s because of them, my roots are where they are,
It’s because of them, I am where I am.
In an instant, I get all my answers,
My soul is relaxing and I can now move forward.