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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required A kite flies a fair-weather bird, Whenever wind wants would it fly, In adverse wind to go wayward. Some that come with a heavy spine, No matter what tricks you might try, They never once fall in fair line. Unless bent be their rigid spine, Reluctant they fly but scarce high, O to dive back from the skyline. Some are like Indian holy cow, You coax and cajole them to fly, Biased, they tilt same side somehow. You guide or goad them to your side, But built so, they bend and defy, Haughty heads, straighter never stride. Broken thread, kites would scratch others: ‘I’ll die but not alone well nigh— It’s my way to flare my feathers’! Very few, on reaching tall height, Stay firm, high in heavenly sky, Exalted, they make a rare sight. These kites are cued in their own bliss, They wish with no others to vie, Not keen to scuffle, live in peace. Steady one gets nigh late in life— On struggling long reaches space high— Earn fruits ripe on suffering strife. Kites tell us: life is just like that, Slow and steady rise, girl or guy, Life’s journey’s never set in a jet. ___________________________________ Musings (on a kite-flying day) |16.01.2024| life, kite Poet’s note: 14th January, called Uttarayana or Makar Sankranti, is celebrated in Gujarat as a kite flying day. This poem’s set as a tercet— a three-line poem. Haiku and Villanelle also are a kind of tercet. This one has its middle line of each stanza taking the same rhyme throughout. Life is like a kite. It is tied to the thread called Fate. Wind leads it to its Destiny. But man, the flyer, has the will to lead it to go where he wishes.
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