Covered in silt and clay,
He stands near the bay,
Staring at the clear sky,
He sees two kites fly,
With the sun rays falling on them,
One of them breaks off and falls on a rose stem,
He runs to the place,
Every footstep he leaves is a trace,
Finally the chasing ends,
And he holds the kite with his coarse hands,
Through the streets,
Wishing all the temple priests,
Imprinting his footsteps,
He walks barefeet onto the puddles,
Listening to the sleep inducing songs,
He marches up on the moors,
Towards the valleys,
Through the rivers,
Suddenly he stops,
With his hands quivering,
He reaches home,
And sees his life giver lying on the floor,
With streams of blood flowing,
And then and there, It all goes black,
The kite runner, Looses his strings…
-©Pratibha Badgal AA
All the posts under the name Pratibha Badgal AA are my own.
