The kite that soars high, somewhat free
It sees many other below, stuck in a tree.
The winds pick up and take it away,
I try to control it with the string of conscience in every possible way.
The winds unpredictable, when they go and when they come
They make some stronger and even break some.
Once again I gain control, try to keep it steady,
Other kites are in the sky, I get ready.
They fight, they want me to fall,
I fight through, flying ever so tall.
As much as I hide, as stoic as I try to be,
A gust of wind comes along and the mind starts to fly free.
I know for sure, any second the string will be cut,
I have to work according to the feeling of my gut.
Soaring through the clouds, I take in the view,
I soar higher and higher as I fight the winds anew.
In the sky of life, come winds of different circumstances,
I wish to not miss the beauty amidst them, I take quick glances.
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