The Fragile Kite.

          The kite that was flying very high,
          Had the pride to pooh pooh the sky.
          The thread that was holding the kite,
          Scorned at the kite's blowing weight.

          The hand holding the kite on its thread,
          Heckled them both, for their crazy head.
          The wind in a whirl, whipped all the three
          Playing for a while, his blowing game in glee.

          Down fell the kite like a jet, speedier to the ground
          Cutting the glassy thread and its hand in a turnaround.
          Flying one's moments of pride is a fragile fashion
          As living is hiring for a while, an airborne mansion.

          It is not that everyone builds here, castles in the air;
          But life is too fragile a kite to fly in an eternal flair.    
                                                             P.Chandrasekaran.