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Fame Is A Kite…

Soaring in the sky,
Trying to reach the sun.
Unaware of having blisters….
It is the spur,
That clears the spirit.
That last infirmity of noble mind,
To scorn delights….
It is a sense of freedom,
Recognizes no one else,
Desire to be always high…
Like a river flows light
Unknown, free…
Lacking a sacred bard…
Like a bird
Fly high, in the sky
Like a bee humming,
Sings a song
It also has a sting
And yes has a wing…

 

© 2012 Pimmi Nag

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