Tuesday, December 12, 2006

Kite

It's a play,
of broken kites,
and ill-fitted dreams
In the park,
where alone,
night runs
In two pigtails,
and ribbons,
of red satin
The swings,
they clap,
oh so empty
The streetlight
so dim,
but night glistens
Toothy giggles,
sneakered feet,
six years old
She runs,
a game of catch,
in circles of dust
The kite falls,
out stretches night,
its tiny arms
But the night,
to die,
it must grow
Still it plays,
this night,

so young
So let this kite,
have one,

last gust
Then ,

let it lie,
finally with dust
For,

the night is young,
so the play must stretch
So she,

spills more dreams,
for the kites to cut

3 comments:

Vi said...

I miss the days of the playground...

Manic Street Preacher said...

i can scream livid freedom from this.
alive.

\m/

Anup Bishnoi said...

lovely lovely poem!
kudos!

"So let this kite,
have one,
last gust
Then ,
let it lie,
finally with dust"

ummah!