Kites don’t fly, but dreams fly high,
In the open sky, reaching for the sky.
Hands that held the string now sigh,
As dreams take flight, and so do I.
One pair of hands seeks foreign lands,
Chasing dreams with open hands.
While those who leave face scolding cries,
The ones who make them leave, in praise they rise.
In the sky’s canvas, dreams take their flight,
A symbol of change in the sun’s warm light.
Grounded are the kites of every shape and hue,
But dreams soar high, forever true