A kite…
not for me ....
to fly above Afghan perils....
In bright fortunes of August
We made kites on feather light papers
And they scaled the seasoned sky
Green, orange, white
We ran behind......
Not for to settle scores on a board,
Certainly not to rejoice a fall;
but to celebrate Onam.
And my orange kites not reached
too high for any one look upon
but balanced, scaled  near horizon
near the settling sun….