A Cut Kite How I Long To Be

My wanderlust I paid its cost
With insolence of savage spree
Where faith triumphs there fear is lost
Soul seeks solace in mind’s misery!

With the squall of fall a ream was born
It soared to the height of spree
Until it entangled with a thorn
With a gust of zephyr it was free!

To drift alone without purpose
Was to be a chosen destiny
The melting candles of Christmas
Must last beyond last litany!

Entangled with life’s estrangement
To rituals of death’s rhapsody
At the altar of faith’s firmament
A Cut Kite How I Long To Be!

© 2023 Vikas Chandra

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