A story of kite

A kite soaring ahead
and no strings attached
swam across the
sea of clouds

In a raging wind
it fluttered its wings
to reach those peaks
never touched by demons

A spirit is she
painted
in dark red colour

as thunder strikes through her body
a serpent on fire
she would writhe in pain
will blind herself
in fumes of acidic smoke

As rain pours
a soothing touch in red hot skin
steam would splurge form her throat
a fountain of hot spring

Let a touch, a sight
or a wizzing sound of her flight
ever come across you

as a pugachev on a sukhoi
would you stream ahead
to touch those distant stars...