poem: The Kite

The day was clear, the sky was blue
The breeze was blowing just right;
In the midst of several others
Was one big blue kite.

It was simple, with no tassels or trails,
Nor with great skill did it fly;
It just floated here & there
Writing poems in the sky.

Around it, the battle was on,
A frenzy of string and kite;
But the big blue one unaware of this,
Was blissful in its flight.

Unaware of other kites
Whistling through the wind;
Unaware of their fight to survive,
Unaware of enemy or friend.

The only thing of which it was aware
Was the very thin long line
Which jerked every now and then
As if of the Earth to it remind.

Every time the last verse
Of each poem the kite did write,
A gentle tug pulled it
To another different height.

Thus writing different poems,
Each with unfinished end,
The big blue kite sailed on
With complete trust in the wind.

All of a sudden it shivered and tensed
In ecstasy and pain combined,
As a passing kite on whistling by
Severed its earthing line.

The big blue kite with one big sweep
Now finished each unfinished verse,
And then rose up in supreme flight,
Free of all tugs and jerks.

The blue of the kite and the blue of the sky
Then merged into one,
As the kite rose higher out of sight
Towards the midday Sun.

The day was clear, the sky was blue,
The breeze was blowing just right;
All the kites were turning to Earth,
Except for one big blue kite.