By O.P Jha

My firm fingers are making a paper plane,
With the heart and eyes of a child.
The heart that once dreamt of a beautiful world,
With innocence and smiles.

The eyes that once saw the sky,
Hugging flickering stars
And kissing the moonlight licking,
The snow-laden peaks.

Suddenly I boarded my paper-plane,
Roamed through unsung decades
With wandering winds.

For finding a way through rusty windows,
For seeking an orifice,
For transforming this spoilt time.

Between my fingers and the sky,
My paper-plane watches many worlds
But slides down like a fish in an aquarium.

Like a fish in an aquarium my fingers try,
And put my dreams on my paper.