She sat on that wooden chair and pondered.
Glanced out through the mesh,
That had a hole in the corner, a tiny fly sneaked in.
Wondered what she found, she lost the decades.
The dried leaves. The butterfly that fluttered around,
Flew high and disappeared.
The shadows of the leaves and branches, the bright sun,
She thought, art on the ground,
Only a few will behold, the rest will pass by.
as her lashes clasped each other, her eyes,
They reached to the branch,
From where a dried leaf toppled down...
A tenuous thread spun around the twig,
An end where sat this tiny fly,
And another attached to the torn kite.
She stopped.
Bright yellow, it may have been.
As the mangled paper ruffled upside down.
The slight gush and another leaf toppled.
The kite and the wind!
Must have been a dream of that little kid,
Who laughed heartily, to see his kite reach the extreme.
A season or two might have passed,
As the paper was still bright,
The same brilliance that it had on its last flight.
The rest shall perish in the seasons to come...
Another little kid, will run to that meadow and fly his kite!
No one shall ponder again about...
The tiny fly that sneaked in...
The butterfly and the dried leaves
...the torn kite stuck in that branch~
~Sanjeeta Sharma Pokharel 'Hridayaninadini'
Art by: Lisa Lea Bemish
