Balloons

  

Joy, pure joy.

Delight, unparalleled to any.

And a hint of mild surprise,

On seeing me bring the balloons for you,

Is what I always witnessed,

What I wanted, always.

The pale Yellow ones you never played with,

And the pink ones, they were always a bit too shocking..

And you always played with the electric blue ones,

And also liked the bright red ones.

Colourful, they were.

Yet your face, more colourful,

Than the balloons themselves,

Made me content.

Brought me peace.

And the way you clinged onto their strings,

Fearing their flight in the sky,

Only added..

To the galore of smiles I already had.

The joy I already was overwhelming.

You then grew to be no longer afraid..

And learnt to let go off the strings,

Let the balloons fly high in the sky,

Soaring, as they went.

You were happy to see them soar high,

And I was glad, to see you happy.

Now the balloons,

Remain but as a memory,

Remain but as an attraction of the fair for small.

You've grown..

And you dont need to grasp my hand anymore,

You dont need the balloons, anymore.

Yet, I am not sad.

I am proud, I am happy.

For soon, there will come a time,

When you will soar like the balloons did,

Your life will have more colours than the balloons did.

Yet, you will need all those balloons one day,

You wont cling onto them to not let them go,

But you will cling onto them,

To let them be set free by some other tiny pair of hands..

And you will know then, about my own joy.

My own delight.

For now,

Content more than ever,

I'm need to loosen my grip,

And fly with the balloons, away..

Far away.

And I will remain but as a man,

Who never let go off all the balloons for you.