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 didn’t have anyone
To hold the string in place
But tying the kite to
Iron grill would work he assumed
But his sister won’t 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