The engines purred, the props whirred
The Cessna slowly stirred.
Pressure on the brakes released
It steadily picked up speed.
A tug so gentle on the stick
Gave us an upward flick.
Up and up through the air we soared,
Through the stratus clouds we gored,
On wings of golden gossamer
Floated high, not ever
Thought of life below,
Just up and higher to go.
With white and blue and gold around
Heavenward were we bound.
One floats so lights, feels so free
Nearer, my God, to thee.
You have power, you have might,
The world lies in your sights;
A strange, defenceless, puny thing,
So to speak, under your wing.
With firm and steady hand
Guided by a maestro’s wand,
It turns, it banks, it veers
To music of the spheres.
Descending windingly,
Homeward bound are we;
Distorted human faces
Longingly watch us whiz,
Children strain to see
And clap their hands with glee.
How lovely look the green- topped trees
Rustling in the summer breeze.
The world’s a pretty enchanting place
When viewed from cloud’s estate.
Eleven O’clock the runway lies
Seems smaller though in size.
Clearing obstacles one by one,
We girt up for the final run.
On turning finals, the runway stared
As down for landing we geared;
Saw it rush at me,
‘Twas all that I could see;
I felt the plane rebound,
Right off the gaping ground,
A few soft thuds and then
Taxiing were we to the pen.

Note: This poem was written in the January of 1976 at the Islamabad Flying Club Chaklala. It was published in the December 2010 issue of the ‘Navy News’.