two kites,
bobbing in the sky,
tied to the reel,
in the hands of destiny.
the reel pulls,
up and down they go,
just like us
controlled, by
golden hands of god.
independence,
depending
on his will!
to float and survive, his wish,
to come down crashing
also his wish.
to survive it tries its best,
but restricted is its neck,
tied to the string,
it tugs and pulls,
sometimes entangled,
sometimes free.
when the game is over,
useless is the kite,
like in old age
its body torn and shattered,
somewhere in the ground.
again, we see another kite,
flying high in the sky,
as the body takes,
another birth!