The Hands that Hold


Take a lifeless piece of paper
A couple of strips of bamboo
String it up, and show it the sky
And then it comes alive
A playful kite on a magic string
Flying free, dancing in the wind
Surging higher into the sky
Straining against the thread that holds
Rising against the winds that blow
The further it goes, the stronger it becomes
An independent identity, on a blissful journey
And from afar, it is such a wonder
To see it way high up there
Sometimes one amongst the birds
Sometimes just cruising the open skies
Straining against the thread with such vigour
To reach out further, and discover life
And from a distance, who could say
Where from its journey began
But I have seen it from a closer place
And there runs a very thin line
Which somehow, bestows it this life
And the hands that hold that magic string
Maybe far away from the celestial kite
But a little tug here, and a little pull there
Sometimes they give, to get its direction right
The freedom to fly, not absolute then
The perception from afar
Missing the almost invisible link
Closer up, there’s a hand that controls
That thin line to the adventurous kite
And then as sunset slowly nears
The hands start pulling back the string
Signaling the time for this journey to end
The kite rebels by pulling away
Taking advantage of the still strong wind
It does not want its flight to end
There is so much higher, for it still to go
But the hands are accustomed to this rebellious tone
And as the distance between the two gets shorter
The winds which power it up
Slowly begin to lose their strength
The inevitability of the landing
Lends a certain submissiveness
To the earlier oblivious carefreeness
The last few pulls, at the string that binds
And its almost like the last a few breaths
No longer trying to pull away at the string
It sways, with no wind to hold it up
And then slowly it falls to the ground below
Where it lies still, its journey over
Now as lifeless, as when it had started
It had touched the sky, seen a different world
But throughout its journey
Through that invisible thread
It had remained connected, to its roots
Held and monitored at every point
By the hands that gave it, the freedom to fly.





Author: vidur sahdev

Living it comes!

2 thoughts on “The Hands that Hold”

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