A Marooned Balloon Poem by Gautam Sen

One boy of very tender age
found peddling balloons
of colors of beautiful range -
one idea struck me soon.

The boy himself was to play with it
red, blue, orange or may be pink,
what the hell, all bullshit
forced so early his life to sink?

I sat near the ballooned boy
'Why do you sell balloons?
Don't you need now anymore toy? “
His face then became maroon.

The story now I'll let you know
what he told me shading tears,
will take away your hearts glow
piercing you with deadly smears.

Being an orphan at the age of four
he was taken under his uncle's care –
right from then his life gathered sores;
he was snatched off his life's all flairs.

His so-called kind uncle kept his cool
to project him as one good savior;
soon he was exposed to a messy whirlpool –
too shocked to face his elder's behavior.

That great uncle was a mill worker,
had his wife, daughter and son,
so the boy was made a wayside hawker
and his children kept their studies on.

Some friends of mine were told the boy’s lot
they wanted to meet this fate’s downfall;
I took all of them to his balloon-selling spot,
but nowhere to find him at that busy mall.