DuckDesk

SANTA’S PILOT LICESCE

Do you know even SANTA CLAUS have his own official pilot licence for flying
his sleigh….

Here is the description….

Every year almost everyone waits waits for the Christmas where Santa brings us a lot of gifts and happiness
especially for kids. According to stories Santa used to rode his flying sleigh pulled by reindeer and distribute
gifts. BUT THIS HAPPENED IN 1927 when assistant secretory of commerce for aeronautics officially
PROVIDED DRIVING LICENCE to our SANTA.
So that everyone can rest assured that he was legally allowed to fly his sleigh. The library of Congress said
that Santa was called to Washington, where our red bearded Santa was given his pilot licence, even the
airport assured that the lights of the airways will always be on for him on the auspicious day of Christmas. Although many sources tells that this story is false. It’s upon the peoples belief that they grant this story as
true or false…

“A Gloomy Sunny Sunset”

Leafs flickered.
The little plants on my terrace
warned.
A cloudy shade appeared
But the sky was bright blue
Ahh! It was my mind so grey
As thoughts turned monsters
And I was the prey.

I was all alone
Amidst the cold summer breeze
The wind brought words
Few whispered
And others swift past the ears
Ma often said about good devils
My thoughts were one of them
Good enough not to kill
But laugh at my pain.

As a child I often dreamt about growing up
Now I dream back my old dreams
I feel pity
Or am I proud?

The cloud almost covered every single ray
Coming to my mind.
But the sky is still blue and bright outside
I have dreamt about stories coming true
About death becoming a lie
I knew who will be I now
I know who I was then
Someone who would love the rain
Ahh! The clouds started thundering now

I think about existence
Am I where should I be?
How did the time knows that well enough
How he tells my mom about me getting an
uncomfortable cough.
Why did I end up living here?
Or being like this.
I have always loved the way I am
But still raising questions to this silly game
I wondered about beings stuffed up
Under a common name

Was everything a lie..?
Ahh! I came back to my terrace again
Standing amidst those plants
Strong winds started blowing
The sky inside was totally
dark with heavy clouds..

The sky still stood blue and bright
With the soil getting enough sunlight..

The sun was about to set
My mind couldn’t witness the end
As it was dark preparing for a storm
The yellow light did touch my eyes
But the clouds were heavier with unfaithful lies

The bright daylight brushed past my cheeks
The wind inside swirled harder each time
My hair was calm
My mind full of storm
The cells ruptured
The hairs stood still again
And then when anger was in vain
Drops
Dripped
Down
My yellow lit up cheeks
The clouds turned heavier
And tried to pour everything down
Just like a faithful servant who would
die for his master
The clouds faded up much faster
My face wet
Shining in the red light

Ahh! What a thunderstorm it turned out
How lovely the weather was …
The cold wind now swirled my hairs
It went in as well since rainwater started drying
Flying with the strong wind
that now started outside
my mind.

Me
My hairs
My eyelashes
The sun
Everything settled down together
Down to the ground
Some end up heavier
Others much more lighter….

Maa say’s, “DONT CELEBRATE YOUR BIRTHDAY”

Yesterday me and my mom
were humming about little things in life
I murmured about school events
and she said about tiresome schedule
of a mother and a wife.

Suddenly I found myself speaking all alone
She listened to me as if I was a voice unknown

After a long stream of thoughts
she touched my skin
And whispered,
“why can’t you stay back as fifteen?”
I was a little shy
And didn’t get what she denied
She said me what if I stopped celebrating a birthday
Atleast that will make her not know my age.

We return back to our little things in life
But her words pierced my thoughts
like a sharp knife

What saddened her?
Me growing up into a lady
losing bits of innocence
or
Ideas of a goodbye day
When her girl ceased to search for her
In every little matter
when her daughter is a bride
And someone else called her mother

What scared her?
The monsters in the street
Who appreciate her daughter’s black hair
Or
the scratches in her skin
That she would save when fighting her fears

Was she afraid if her girl’s
voice will be heard,
as carefully as she heard me then?
Was it the reason she kept quiet
So to give my throat
Enough power to snatch away my rights!?