Colorful vagrant little spheres

How they float so freely

Not caring where they would land

Not caring of their inevitable fate


Empty containers of air

Soaring above a harsh world

Blown by the winds to-and-fro

Seeing hearing speaking nothing


Is it bliss to soar so high?

Do they not care that they will die?

Once they reach the ground and burst

They are sacks of inanimate rubber


Is sentience a curse?

They say One thinks too much

How One loathes you balloons

You have no thought, no will, nothing


Jealousy; One ought to shoot them down

Shatter them before their time

To watch them rip apart

By the very air that gives them flight


With thought comes madness

With madness comes animosity

With such things One must live

For One is no balloon, but alive


~ by Prageeth Thoradeniya on November 6, 2008.

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