Be It

Be it
If it chooses to fly back to the old sights;
To the shattered lands, dried flowers,
Sunburnt darkness, dying stars.

And be it
If it turns its back
To a new world of bliss
Or another catastrophe?

Be it
If its happiness lives in reviving
What is left behind,
And could never become what it had been once,
A 'past' is what all is left of it.

Be it
If it trust itself to an extent of
Creating a whole new bridge out of the ashes
-Ashes that desire some blooming buds
Or flowing air
Or swaying seas.

Be it
If it wants to end its eternity
In something that has faded away,
Or is crucified by the cruel creeds
Of time.

Be it
If it flies in its own freedom of dreams
A heart- is why it is named so, maybe.
Let it live
Before it dies in the flood of realization
And wakes to the barren lands.

So be it, if it...