Kites and strings

A bright day and the sun was up, the cool winds blew west.
The kite took flight and in moments and joined the rest.
I watched at it from very far, to see the kites' random dance.
And now I don't rejoice my great flight, no more lost in the trance.

I lived by a pond with a lot of fish, most of them were bland.
I wanted to know something new, and flew across the land.
It's been a long time I've moved out, tasting every prey,
my feathers have worn out, my white wings are now grey.

On my way, I met black feathers and many such kites.
I've made many friendships and enjoyed my rights.
Now I see that I am lost, there's no more bland fish,
to return to my own old land shall be my last wish.

Oh, look at all these kites that are bound to their own,
and yet by breezes are brought up and flown.
After the day is done and the night has come,
they have a place called own where they are from.

It is good to fly long and free, to hover and soar,
and to fill yourself with the storms' lightening and roar.
But where you come from and who you are,
is all you shall not forget when you travel far.