When you decide to make me, make me a bird, my Lord.
Let me fly navigating streams of gusts and sighting the glory of elements of the earth.
Give me wings and let me float along the wind like an untouched thought.
Let me be free of possessions and be open to stray away from my position.
Let me just be as light as a feather and unburdened by the sentiments of needs of existence.
And still, if you decide to make me a human being, make me a mad poet.
A lunatic who breaks into songs at odd hours.
A moonstruck who finds beauty in blossomed flowers and fallen leaves.
An affected fellow who cares less about power but craves for love.
An eccentric who does not mince his words but is awestruck by their sounds.
Let me be this disturbed person who believes in the impermanence of existence and does not write for merely a by-line.