A Tiny Dot In The Sky
I am a poet,
Who dreams of words that sing.
I draw a picture with my words,
Of my soul’s innermost desire.
This morn I woke up,
With a song in my heart,
I went up to the balcony,
And looked up at the sky.
I could see a tiny dot,
Moving high up above me,
Leaving a wisp of white cloud,
Like the trail of a jet.
I wondered about the people,
Inside that flying machine,
Whose lives were vested,
In the hands of the pilot at the helm.
Through good and bad weather,
Holding on to the yoke,
With firm and powerful fingers,
Coursing expertly through the clouds.
Taking off and landing the aircraft,
Be it rain or bright sunshine,
It is indeed a great responsibility,
The culmination of years of training.
My little one has just started off,
On this wondrous journey of flight and fancy,
Seeing her fly from one end of the globe to another,
Is my heart’s joyous desire.