A Helium Inside Papa’s Balloon

When I was younger,

Papa used to buy me my favorite

balloon.

A red one.

I saw him smile at me

and taught me how to handle it

without losing hold on it.

He said that I should hold it

tightly with my little bare hands.

But I don’t know how to control

that’s why he tied the string

and knotted it accordingly

to my right thumb without

hurting my finger.

He was so patient.

Now, I’m already a grown up

Papa don’t want me

to act as a child anymore.

He don’t want to see

me holding a balloon anymore.

He’s angry

whenever I buy one.

And says I become more immature.

He said I should not hold the balloon

tighter for I learn to let go

of things.

That I

should learn going up high

freely and independently.

 

I still love the balloon

but he told me to let it go.

Does he don’t love me anymore?

But he said that changes

should partake to make things grow.

And I believe he still love me

because he wants me to grow

without losing the grip

of the string inside his heart.

 

Tags: a helium inside papa's balloon, balloon, diana, helium, narrative poem, poetry