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Torn Wings


Every day the sky seems ordinary blue
People move in and out of artificial domes
The specks of black lie beyond their line of sight
Those birds merely trace arcs from dawn to dusk

Today for once the sky is chocked full of kites
The deep blue lingers behind layers of fast colors and patterns
Massive human mastheads swim across the entire sphere
The street noises drowned under ‘oohs’ and ‘aahs’

This wondrous creation linked to the hands of humanity
Draws ever eye to lock gaze with its heavenly path
And down below those creatures of flight
Sketch their instincts on paths long-memorized

Today we will look into the horizon for signs of hope
Tomorrow sweep away the bloodied carcasses under an earthly rug
Today we will sing happily to see the strings string cuts
Tomorrow witness torn wings die with a complacent shrug.

– A poem to commemorate the beauty that this kite-festival is.

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