Kite: Τhe Proud Flag Of Your Skill Poem by dimitrios galanis

There pegged the eyes on the paper keel
backwards running to get it at the air
hand-over-hand loosening the line to pull the kite aloft,
back again, pulling in on the line a bit of tension to provide
and that disobedient thing in stubborn denial to be kept airborne,
to twist the wheel, oscillate in hammock's and seesaw's rhythm
until finally once again to land in shame on the soil.

''Check the bridles lest it does not equilibrate,
put, cut some paper, ribbon to form a better tail,
add, remove some strips of this or that material
for better weighting, buoyancy.
In case of sufficient wind,
they all then synchronized will lift it off.''
..........
And you to stay doubtful, to wonder
what were the intentions of the advise!
Again on the tryout, to see it gaining altitude,
hovering unsteady, ready to flutter steady for your joy's sake,
but again to twist, to turn, to dive, or just keep the breath of its fly.

''Wind the string up properly, wrap the line around the spool
in the tension to stay up, pull on the line hard..
Leave, leave it, it tossed away, you don't see...''

And around the little chapel on the hill of St. Elia
where customary we used to meet on Monday the Green
all sort of voices were sounded, heard:
admonishment, exhortations, hurrahs,
strictures, , rebukes, scolds, shouts and yells.

But when lucky to see your kite gaining the decisive altitude
dangling in smooth flight's rule
not being in danger by any wind's blow, harsh or weak,
to have definitely avoid the disgraceful landing,
your hands' multicoloured hope be at last at its zenith,
untiring for hours on the hill,
you were navigating high up in the air
the proud flag of your skill.