Lost Balloons

By Shatakshi Srivastava

As a kid we all loved balloons

I especially thought I could reach the moon

Collected as a hobby - various shapes, colour, sizes

Had this talent, could catch onto them soon.

Anyone who saw praised my talent

Said my hard work was a gift that God sent

Different people were interested in different balloons

Just to gain appreciation I would go hell bent.

My hand was small although it could hold them all

I liked to go around flaunting them through the hall

The balloons and me had an understanding you can say

I thought with them decorating my hand, I’ll grow tall.

The passage of time is a cursed place they said

But I love my balloons was the only thought in my head

The supposed Satan assaulted my love

At every corner, for my fleeing balloons I had pled.

One by one they got ripped off my hand

The memoir of them? Just a strand

The balloons of virtuosity whom I adored

Lost them and I could do nothing but stand.

Stand and watch how my hands went useless

The ones which held balloons now felt helpless

Could no longer do the things they loved to

The absence of balloons left them in a mess.

Still that cruel passage does not seem to end

Got no balloons with me, no friends

But I have to keep moving as there’s no way out

Still on every step I hope those gifts God will again send.

At the end of this passage, I can see a moon

A prayer in my heart, in my head – a melancholic tune

A wish to hold onto my lost hobbies again

That little girl would’ve cried if she knew she lost her beloved balloons.

By Shatakshi Srivastava