It soars.

High in the sky.

Carefree and buoyant.

Riding the eddies and air currents.

Catching the sun.

Ascending, swooping, looping.

Gliding. Freewheeling.

Turning cartwheels.

Seemingly uninhibited. Even inebriated.

But tied down.

Tethered by a string.

Held by a pair of hands.

Which tug at it every so often.

Keeping a hold on it.

Preventing it from flying away.

Sometimes, winding the string.

To bring it closer to earth.

At others, slackening it.

Setting it loose.

Affording it release.

Allowing the kite, its whims.

So it bobs. Flutters. Sinks.

As it is manipulated, coaxed, cajoled.


And while the kite wants no attachment,

The hands want control.

Seek dominance over others’ kites.

Respond to threats.

Engaging, warring, entangling with rivals.

Cutting off their strings.

To send them scurrying away,

Captive to whatever wind that is blowing.

Or collapsing uncontrollably to the ground.

Its life in shreds.


The kite.

A life of its own.

But the mind,

its master’s.



  1. So much for “free as kite” We never are really. But that’s the beauty of imagination and art – it takes you places . I agree with one of the comments – a profound piece – a great piece for reflection and debate actually – but not without a drink.

    Liked by 1 person


  2. Your words swoop and soar like the kite. Thanks for sharing! I have a poetry blog here on WordPress and today’s poem is about excitement in case you have time to have a look? Have a good day, Sam 🙂

    Liked by 1 person


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