The boy who knows how to fly the kite,
Knows what freedom is.
But his mother will never let him play-
Outside for long.
His teachers have always insisted,
On studying and utilizing-
The most precious hours.
The boy who knows
How to make the kite,
Has a mind,
Which knows how to stretch,
His hands for the unbinding freedom,
Concealed somewhere unseen-
In the vast sky.
Always, who has searched for a cloudless sky,
Knows how to search for-
The milieu which suits to resume-
His quest for freedom. The boy-
Knows, that on some occasions,
The wind, the thread, the hands,
And his luck have played something,
Unperceived by others, and have-
Taken his kite to a world where,
No colours rule and no borders divide.
He knows this, for, he is the boy who knows-
How to fly the kite.