The Kite
My soul is like a kite
and the thread is in your hands.
It is wild as the wind and disobedient
and the thread is in your hands.
Now it plays merrily with the wind,
soars effortlessly in the clouds,
now it shudders and dies
and catches the air stertorously
and he, below, stands, laughs –
he loves to watch.
The kite threshes, the wind swirls,
wanting to wear through the thread.
and the thread is in your hands.
It is wild as the wind and disobedient
and the thread is in your hands.
Now it plays merrily with the wind,
soars effortlessly in the clouds,
now it shudders and dies
and catches the air stertorously
and he, below, stands, laughs –
he loves to watch.
The kite threshes, the wind swirls,
wanting to wear through the thread.
Translated by Richard McKane
Page(s) 227
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