The Kite

It touched the skies
Finally finding release
The kite, symbolising freedom
Flying beyond anybody's reach
Doing what it was meant to do

Fulfilling its purpose
On its own merit
With no one dictating terms!

The release was exhilarating 

And it fluttered in the wind

Making music that enthused it 

Making it rise some more.

A gentle tug pulled it back. 

But as the string was loosened, 

It climbed higher still, 

Farther away from others' touch, 

Away from anybody's reach, 

Weaving its way out of danger 

As other kites flew daringly close, 

Trying to take the wind out from beneath it.
Aha, the tug again! 

Can't they let it fly 

Soar higher, soar as it pleased,

Without pulling it back?

The wind slackened 

And the kite lost height

It panicked, but felt the tug 

And it straightened, to again fly up 

Climbing higher and higher, 

Triumphant and emancipated

Suddenly it lost control

Spiralling downward unchecked

 

Praying for the tug 

To make it go up

But with the string was cut

Finally, it was truly free

Through the jutting hills 

And thorny branches

It tore and fell

To meet its end 

In the final flutter

Memories flew past

The hands that made it

The hands that let it go

The hands that 

Held the strings

The hands that 

Let it fly

The hands that 

Guided its journey up

And now the hands that 

Held it with immense love 

On its own it was nothing

The freedom, but a myth

The string and the tug

The strength it needed

Pushing it to the heights

It craved and sought.