The End of the Rainbow

They say there is a pot of gold at the end of every rainbow.
I don't believe that.

That day I sat staring at the words "St Petersburg" from inside the small window, a sour lump rising and lodging in my throat, I could almost hear my heart crying. The happy chatter all around me undertoned by the consistent purr of the metal bird swirled into a misty blur as all that were left in my world at that moment were the words perched coldly on top of that roof, the red tip of the wings that would take me home, and that expanding lump of acid that in my throat.

As I lowered my head to wipe the cascade of tears from my face, I saw that my knuckles had turned pale, white as the cover of the album I hugged close to my chest.



How do you say goodbye to a home ?

How do you wave, and smile, and march bravely on forward, and look back and say, I used to belong?

Do you, can you, ever truly leave?


They say you will find your pot of rainbow, if you just followed through to the end of it.

I want to tell them, I have.

I stepped onto my rainbow 6 years ago, i have ridden along its every turn, counted every colour, bathed in every shimmer.

Today is the day I step down from my rainbow to find the pot of gold.

And my heart ached, and twisted into itself, and bled, because it was the end, and I didn't even get to take a little piece of that heaven with me.

Yet, did you ever imagine that magic could happen, and that it did happen for me that day?

They say there is a pot of gold at the end of every rainbow.
I don't believe that.

You see, I have seen my own rainbow, and it never ever ends.

Rainbow image source : http://www.deadprogrammer.com/>

Note : I did not manage to take a picture of the rainbow I saw. The rainbow in this picture, however, was exactly the way the rainbow looked the day I left St Petersburg, my home away from home.