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I was soaring high
Though tied to the ground
A pale hand rustling through the thread

It let me go and then steer me back
Let me go again
I was flying
Piercing through the strong wind

I am just a paper, mind you
But I was made for this
All conditions met
And I am ready for impossible

My bright colors in this blue sky
Some people look at me in amazement
While the one
Who is keeping me grounded
Know when to let loose.

I was stuck
On a tree
Every stem piercing through me
The thread drops
The hope fades

I am useless now
I don’t do what I was made to do
I sat on the tree
My former glory

I saw some new ones flying
And smiled at them
Don’t regret anything
Atleast I lived when I should have

“You must do what you ought to do,
Even if it kills you.”


Published by pseudowriter

I love to write, especially about those thoughts which dominate my life most. I like reading something which is innovative on terms of human consciousness, social betterment and life in general.

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