The Vendor

The colourful balloons kept gazing at the sky
Does the wide grey cloud make them sigh?
There was no wind to let them dance
I stood across, away, seeing Him, offering my silence.
He was alone, so was I with no man to visit
My balloons idled, so did He; the laments did He miss it?
Was I hearing the drum beats, the cymbals?
Are the elephants nearing in slow rhythm, their faint bells?
Water drops fall on my face, not tears of joy
A mother rushes past, tugging her little boy.
“Want a red balloon!” will he turn and say?
They hurried into an auto* to my dismay.
The mask has by now trained well my mouth
To stay shut more; food a luxury, a new cruel truth.
The banyan tree, a mute listener of those sorrows for long
Will the prayers be answered? weeping hearts returned a song?
Many have only hope left to hold on
With uncertainty folding in as life’s own
Balloons had always been with happiness
They were needed for celebrations of innocence.
Wonders hardly happen, but I wait for it to appear
My wait continues, I know time will give me despair.
Crawling, a day reaches its end
Everything is slow, a pace unable to mend.
I carefully untie each balloon from their stand, set them free
I lie down, waiting for the moon, not the same; under the banyan

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