The Kite

The soul that wants to fly
To faraway unknown lands,
The heart that yearns to soar
Like the kite, into the endless sky.

As the beautiful little thing
Fast disappears beyond the horizon,
Where dreams and aspirations lie;
Enchanting and captivating feelings
Take over the somewhat heavy,
Somewhat enamored heart.

The string that strongly holds
The poor little thing that struggles,
To break free of unwanted bonds,
And from the ever seizing strangles.
Knowing fully well that without
The strand, it would float downwards,
All It asks is a free hand that
Allows It to reach golden heights.

Bright imaginations color the mind
As It flutters with the wind,
Trying to find a mystic place,
Where desires and reality meet.

It meanders away to glory,
To perchance meet candy times;
To rise unhindered, to chart
Its own magical path;
'Let me fly, Let me loose'
It seems to say with every pull.

Then It realizes, bitterly
That the unrelenting hand
Will never let free;
That it's better to pull away,
And perhaps risk a glorious fall
In place of the restraining chains;
To live a vision, to chance a dream,
And even in storm, To meet victory in loss.

The wind is favourable, Time is ripe;
It's better done now;
For winds do their direction change,
Without warning and without a trace.

And then there will be no escape,
From the torture of the unwilling hand.
So It cuts off, with a moment of thought,
It tries to sail into the distant heavens;
Though lonely battles are a hard win,
It fights till every nerve is thin.

It again tries, rises with charm and pride,
And makes It's way a little further
Eyeing long longed peaks and the crown;
Then, as sure, as death is certain,
It falls somewhere in remote terrains.
If only the hand had let It free,
What glory could have been,
What pinnacle It could have seen!

- Samarth Prakash
http://blog.samarthprakash.com/index.php?catid=16&blogid=1