A six year old once Thought of a great plan A huge kite Made out of ivory sheets, Broomsticks and yarn spool Finish it before evening Tie himself Ride the breeze And fly to the moon
He knew every evening Winds died out by the time bells ring In temple at street corner And be finished before seven thirty When mom shouts him down the roof One of the troubles Was he didnβt have anyone To hold the string in place But tying the kite to Iron grill would work he assumed But his sister wonβt tell him Where the glue was And he didn't have enough string To reach the moon So he borrowed some Wool yarn from an unfinished Sweater grandma made last year A matching red for my kite
But much to do With not much time Sky was getting orangier Mosquitoes noisier Time for quick decisions Sitting on water tank Gazing at the sky Kids flying them like inebriated pilots Failing and falling like leaves Thinking of those fools I could do better Fly higher If only a bit older
Three decades later Searching for a forsaken photocopy He found a drawing Made on a summer evening A red kite smiling in clouds With a half moon behind it