The W is moving,
High up in the air,
Fast and graceful,
As a ballerina
On the stage,
The W-moving is the
Blurred pigeon,
Against the dark
Massed up clouds,
Circling in the ether,
Flexing its twin wings,
Perfectly coordinated
The tiny W moves around,
Effortlessly,
Up above the grilled window,
Watched by a lonely child,
On that memorable
2 September, 2012,
A lazy Sunday
The W-mobile
Flits,
Dips,
Soars,
And then
Vanishes in the vast
Blue sky,
A kinetic figure
Tiny body swimming in that
Infinity that cannot be seen,
Telling the little boy
To rise
Above the petty, the mundane
And test
The unknown,
Dare to
Fly,
Despite earth-bound,
On the wings of
Imagination,
To the far-off lands.
