I am the pigeon on January 14th,
Hiding in the densest trees,
Afraid to take off,
Trying to find an escape route
Amidst the numerous strings.
I am the tree on January 14th,
Standing dead with fallen leaves,
Staring at miles of livelihood.
I am the kite on January 14th,
Flying towards the Sun relentlessly,
Out on an horizon-less venture.
I am the little girl child, on Makar Sankranti,
Smiling while looking at my siblings enjoying,
And all elders arranging for the grand feast!
Thinking how festivals are just another day with my loved ones,
Knowing that this feeling is my home,
And this home is my escape route.