Her Golden Kite

She stood,
On the wooden plank,
Waiting-

Her little hands,
Held a string,
The twine stretching,
Across the horizons,
Maneuvering,
Her golden kite.

Tear streaks, dried up,
Ran along her cheeks.
Reddish hue,
Her diamond face adorned.

The evening sun,
Seemed to watch - her.

Playing,
Along the shores,
A walk along the sea line,
Her tender supple feet,
Wet-
Her anklets, chiming-
The ballads of life-
Innocent.

It was then, that, she saw-
The kite seller-
Walking over to her,
A trail of colors following.

Teary eyed, she pleaded,
For the golden kite-
At last, give in,
Did her grandpa.
Smiling hard, she ran-
Her kite, flying safe,
Her soul soaring along.

Her laughter echoed,
In the silence of all the din.
The sun-
He smiled, at the glow-
Hers.
And gently, he bowed down.

Into the seas-
A plop.
The sky turned golden-
Her kite merging,
The colors blending.

The waves lashing beneath,
The golden skies shining above,
The breeze hugging her tight,
The sun peeping at her, from the seas,
The moon, shying away, from her innocence.

And she,
Stood waiting,
On that wooden plank-

The kite and the nature in unison-
They sang her a lullaby-
And she smiled-
Her toothless grin.