After hours of holding
The glass kissed string
The control on flight
That would otherwise be astray
Into the free blowing breeze
And move beyond our grip
Till we would call it a lost kite
Only to camouflage our pettiness
In fact we would be lost
In a nondescript nook of terrace
Amidst an overcrowded tract
While the fanciful sheet would fly
Into the infinite expanse of sky
Upto a zenith that would dissolve sight
With our limitations of faculty
We would define it as a lost kite.
Delhi
00 58 hrs
2053
26.3.23
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