The Little Girl

She sat tucked into her bed right beside her window gasping in pain, as she looked outside towards the street. She tried to breathe, but all she felt was fear. A fear, of not knowing what lay ahead and of being choked.

Tear droplets smouldered her face, they seemed to have united with the frequency of the rain pouring outside. Her eyes just wouldn't stop. She felt her throat being sore inside as she tried curbing her hysterical sobs.

"What did I do wrong! Why does it hurt so much!" She wept to herself.

Art was her passion, everything in nature would once inspire her, but now art felt fake. She had found work as a designer and had worked in this metropolis for two years now.

After everything she had given, she had earned only suffocation and sufferings. She witnessed, every bit of her art and talent scrapped for the sake of a ton of dilapidated egos. She respectfully had waged war against the very nature of modern men, which is characterized by a lack of empathy and compassion. 

Her spirit had a life force, too strong to give up. Although, she physically could keep up no more. She stood in between fighting a losing battle, one where she alone was her brigade. While weeping she wished how something would change. She had loved monsoon as a kid but now it reminded her of all that she had lost ever since she had left her old life. The cosy bed she was in gave her no joy because she knew the comfort would not last, she'd have to leave soon and run the hamster wheel again.

She leaned into the beautiful memories of her childhood which were her place of solace. The sobbing stopped and so did the pain. She didn't feel alone anymore. Getting out of the bed she hastily grabbed her diary and a pencil that had been sitting nearby on her study table. She opened her journal and scribbled fanatically.

She had dreamt of climbing mountains, swimming in the ocean and so much more. She once deeply believed that she was fated to be lead by her passion. Passion for nature and for her art. She had suddenly realised why she felt lost. It was because she no longer experienced the love she once had for creation.

'I will find a way.'

She wrote these words, repeatedly till the entire page and an additional three pages were full.

"Children never give up, their spirits are stronger than the rock of Gibraltar and their innocence shines like the brightest of suns, radiating exuberance. The faith that they are protected gives them their freedom. That spirit is what I want." She murmured.

She knew that she would never be the kid that she once was but she'd soon be free.

She reminded herself of the realised poet William Blake's, The Lamb and The Tyger, songs of innocence and experience.

She had been the Lamb and but now it was time for her to become the Tiger. She had to awaken the little girl within her.

She read Blake's poems aloud!

"The Lamb"

Little Lamb who made thee 

Dost thou know who made thee 

Gave thee life and bid thee feed. 

By the stream and o'er the mead;

Gave thee clothing of delight,

Softest clothing wooly bright;

Gave thee such a tender voice,

Making all the vales rejoice! 

Little Lamb who made thee 

 Dost thou know who made thee 

Little Lamb I'll tell thee,

Little Lamb I'll tell thee!

He is called by thy name,

For he calls himself a Lamb: 

He is meek & he is mild, 

He became a little child: 

I a child & thou a lamb, 

We are called by his name.

Little Lamb God bless thee. 

Little Lamb God bless thee.

"The Tyger"

Tyger Tyger, burning bright, 

In the forests of the night; 

What immortal hand or eye, 

Could frame thy fearful symmetry?

In what distant deeps or skies. 

Burnt the fire of thine eyes?

On what wings dare he aspire?

What the hand, dare seize the fire?

And what shoulder, & what art,

Could twist the sinews of thy heart?

And when thy heart began to beat,

What dread hand? & what dread feet?

What the hammer? what the chain, 

In what furnace was thy brain?

What the anvil? what dread grasp, 

Dare its deadly terrors clasp! 

When the stars threw down their spears 

And water'd heaven with their tears: 

Did he smile his work to see?

Did he who made the Lamb make thee?

Tyger Tyger burning bright, 

In the forests of the night: 

What immortal hand or eye,

Dare frame thy fearful symmetry?

Now she was ready to start her journey. A journey towards self-discovery. 

The first step was putting in a leave application which would definitely be rejected but this time she didn't care. 

She had made a decision, travelling had been in her cards and so was a new beginning, which she would read about in every morning forecast for weeks. Now, she was going to make it happen. 

There were specific places she wanted to travel to, a few of them being the Sapthshrunghi mountain in Maharashtra, Uluru mountain in Australia, Mount Kailash, the Stonehenge in the UK, Riverbanks of Krishna river in Brahmapuri in Satara, Ganpatipule and Riverbanks of The Ganga river.

Without giving a second thought, she started with her bookings, she used most of her savings for her elaborate travel plans and for the first time in two years felt relief, it felt like a cold breeze brushing through her tired features and replenishing them.

'To see a World in a Grain of Sand

And a Heaven in a Wild Flower 

Hold Infinity in the palm of your hand 

And Eternity in an hour.' - William Blake

It only takes a moment to evolve, whether or not we accept it and act upon is our choice.

-By Yavanika Kaushal