Rugged pants and a torn shirt,
his defeat wasn't any ordinary.
Poverty stricken and grief laden,
his scuffle with the world wasn't temporary.
High on his wrecked spirit and tainted soul,
the milieu he was in, wasn't voluntary.
Born from the womb, yet abandoned by indigence,
Orphan, the crooked world gaped at him.
Not guilty of anything, yet culpable of his state,
misery to his life was complimentary.
With a handful of grains and little water,
his hands shivered to feed his malnourished self.
More than food, hopes fueled his happiness,
for the juncture he thought he was in, was momentary.
Devoid he was of the basic life,
he glanced at humans who made his presence fictitious.
While luxury they yearned for,
He sat there, for that luxury for him was secondary.
One day he was lost in his opaque world,
when a red balloon flew and found him.
His chapped lips broke into a smile,
for he found a friend to compliment his solitary.
While the humans reached the moon,
his red balloon he found was his mars.
He was happy at that moment,
for he knew his life was still stationary.
Jumped around like a little kid,
for his childhood he beheld in his red balloon,
Agony that his little soul was tied in,
breaking it for his happiness, the sight was exemplary.
His story turned out as a lesson for me,
left in awe of his innocence despite the wreckage.
His red balloon taught me more than I could see,
that being happy in the toughest times is necessary!
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