The Balloon Poem by Bipin Patsani

Not exactly the love and loss
Of some particular thing or person,
A diversion like a balloon
Or a kite, though it seem so,
What torments us most
Is our disillusionment and the death
Of our emotional spring
That makes life monotonous.
But when the balloon comes again
Into the infantile grip as a microcosm,
When it comes with all sensible riches,
A warm smile sweeps again over the valley
And the magic fingers of the wind
Pass through, fondling
The green divine delicacy of leaves.
And the baby feels as if
He is holding the world of his little concept,
His own world that revolves around him,
And it is not a mere balloon.
Our heart's harbour needs constant digging,
Dredging of sands accumulated.
It needs something to enter and fill its void.
An empty box,
Thirsting for what it thinks precious,
Feels proud of its possessions when filled.