Swinging

Swinging on a swing hammock,
In the early fresh winter morning.
Inhaling those dry but wild cool breeze,
& exhaling pressure & distress.
.
The pleasure attained by just the correct movements,
Movements of legs.
Stretching outward while moving upwards,
& contracting towards back,
While swinging backward.
.
While reaching towards the highest peak,
It seems the heart will cage-out,
Slipping out from the careful barrier, the ribs.
Spilling out the fresh warm enthusiastic circulating blood,
Misdirecting it's ancestral queue, i.e the veins.
.
Reaching the peak position,
Also coax my soul to fly away in the sky,
Reaching the top, where clouds resides,
& playing with the birds, flying extremely high.
It also wheedles my body,
To reach beyond the corner,
Where the sky ends aswell.
.
The ride which always persisted close to my heart,
Alluring since childhood till yet.
& also making us,we cousins,
Fight amongst each other for it's favour.
But the thing which changed from then to now is,
Then parents stand behind to push to entertain,
But now, everything is accord to one's caliber,
.
Though it leads to pain,
Pain in legs & thighs.
But the craze lingers deep inside,
Unable, or far away from it's extinction.
-Fauzia Afreen