But don't you get tired
of being the kite?
whipped around on high,
to be sixteen again, to look
down and see nothing
but still be waiting
for the fall, to lean in
familiar for a human kiss
and step back to see
a glass eye.
If you killed me,
I would die.

Now listen well and hear this tale
Of a sixteen year old lad
Who with his wit and flying skill
Made two great countries glad

The chasm was eight hundred feet
Across Niagara Falls
The travelers could not get across
The steep and spray soaked walls

“We need a bridge”, cried engineers
A modern thoroughfare
But how to reach the other side?
We cannot build on air

A rocket or an arrow? No.
But what about a kite?
Let’s have a contest for the youth
We’d have a start, though slight

The people came with kites prepared
For fame and a reward
And Homan Walsh was very first
To span the gorge with cord

A string, then ropes, then cables spanned
And soon the bridge was done
The mighty falls could now be crossed
With string it was begun

And every great accomplishment
Began with something small
Remember Homan and his kite
That bridged Niagara Falls

Abusing his kindness
Is like giving a child a kite
Then cutting the string

soaring peacefully,
far above our heads.

you keen and dive,
move and shake,
you dance.

careful now -
don't let go,
keep the string firm in your grasp

she is strong,
and she pulls hard -
lifting us up from our feet.

o! to be a ribbon,
fluttering in your breeze,
swirling and twirling beneath
your gaze.

o! to feel the tug
of that thin white line,
wrenching us forward,
dragging us on -

tied to the pit of my stomach,
you yank what's left of my insides out

I might get caught up in your mind
I might unwind my string
and outstretch my being
to float with you, to let you fill up
my paper wings, my origami heart
I might take flight and let you
fly this kite, if only
you pull me in easy, keep me steady
I might follow where you lead
if you give me the freedom I need
to be colored beautiful
against a high, blue sky
to be me, shaped perfectly for you to see

Today  is  tomorrow's  
fourth night.



Believe  it  or
    not
Yesterday   has  had
flowers   to  gift  you.




      Hence   the  coming
           season   of  February
would  be   very

    nasty!



       Believe   it  or  

                  not
Tomorrow's   tomorrow
would   be my
first   guest.


  Let  him  permit
to  fly   winter-kites
on   Indian  sky.

I saw a girl playing alone
many of her toys scattered around
there was only one she bothered to pick up.

A paper kite that was broken
with edges folded and pieces fallen
she tried to fly it but it was for nothing.

I didn't see how long she tried to fly it
but I prayed she won't become crestfallen
when most things in the world seem broken.