The kite ascended.
The light breeze slowly took it up.
The boy below in glee.
Watched in awe as his gleaming diamond soared.
Nothing could match this sight.
Nothing could match this beauty of his.
He took it up there.
With the string that he held soft.
He was its master.
And the kite flew where he wished.
He loved it too much.
He believed in its power and its beauty.
Another string appeared.
And with it came a kite like many others.
None too pretty and neither a warrior.
Yet it came but not towards the boy's own.
It wafted in the air a little away.
On its own, gently swaying.
But not too far.
And then the wind.
That brings small calamities,
Brought the ugly kite closer.
On its string that was covered with glass.
Pieces of glass that the boy below knew not of.
The wind collapsed.
So did the gleaming beauty of a kite.
His kite fell like any other.
Nothing seemed extraordinary about it.
Not any more.
Not as the wind took it away.
14 comments:
I have been staring at the poem for a long time, not entirely realizing what I should comment.
I believe I am that one person who knows and understands all the thoughts behind this piece.
All I would say is that,
The boy ran to its rescue,
To put the kite back in the sky,
With colours, bright and beautiful,
The kite fluttered again and smiled.
It wasn't the fall that made the kite ordinary,
For being extraordinary has forever been its call,
Reigning supreme in the bright blue sky,
It was still a kite after all!
I needed to subscribe to comments so I am commenting again!
@Enchanta :
The poor boy had nothing to blame.
Not himself for his folly.
Not the kite or the wind.
But only the fact that he didn't know
Where the wind came from.
And the kite flew away thus.
In sorrow.
Morose.
The Kite flew away,morose though.
Travelling lands afar,
Hovering,
Circling,
There were jungles and deserts,
There were the seas and the fields,
So much to see,
To be in awe of.
The boy remained where he stood.
The boy looked on staring blankly at the sky.
He saw the last minutes of his only kite flying away,
His bright and beautiful precious.
He felt the pangs of letting it go,
And stood there, still,
As tears welled up in his innocent eyes.
I love the poem, however, I'd rather have a happy ending to the kite like Enchanta writes. Nice post and I quite enjoyed the alternate endings or should I say verses,that you both put up!
@Enchanta :
The kite was able to see the world.
But he understood nothing.
Nothing without the boy's hands to guide.
He was lost.
He was scared.
He died in a storm.
@Nikita : The thoughts weren't happy; otherwise who doesn't wish for a happy ending?
I'm glad you liked the poem. :)
The mad storm carried on,
The boy walked on,
Bare feet.
He stumbled upon a million things,
To shed ugly tears a million times,
He called for his kite,
That he so dearly loved,
And nothing but hopelessness engulfed him,
In his whim to search for that one true thing,
He got lost in the gory dense forests.
While fleeing and fighting the wolves and dogs,
He spotted a burst of colour stuck in a tree,
He climbed the tree with the little might he had,
To reach for that hope on the highest branch,
But alas, his little body couldn't take it any longer,
And he fell and got bitten by a snake.
@ Nikita : Thank you very much :)
@Enchanta :
And while the boy struggled and stumbled,
The kite flew at the mercy of the wind.
And landed finally in the gory brambles.
Of a tree that none could ever reach.
The boy tried in vain some time.
But a snake got to him early.
But as the chain of nature follows,
A hawk shredded the kite in his hunt for the snake.
:-|
NooooOOOooooOOO... :-(
Rewind
.
.
.
Rewind
Rewind
.
.
Reeeewind!
The Kite was strong,
Its frame made of wood,
Varnished and smooth,
The colours were such,
That they defied harsh weather,
Even when the storm would be in full gloom.
The boy stood there with twinkling eyes,
The string in his hand,
As his lovely kite slowly swayed,
He looked beyond the blues of the skies,
And felt a thud of insane happiness.
@Enchanta :
Alright already.
The kite flew with grandeur.
In the skies it called its own.
And its master the proud young boy.
Stood below with his head held high.
Happy, Enchanta? :P
lovely poem.. Liked the way it ended in comments. Kudos to you and Enchanta... Great work :)
@Anand : Thanks a lot. Welcome to Writering! And Enchanta and I love doing what we did here. haha :D
@ Anand: Yes absolutely love doing it. :)
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