It rises, up and up,
Leaving alone the hand.

It is still moving up,
Leaving its habitat;
To follow a new thought.

But at a limit, it stops;
As if confused in choosing path;
And in its life intrudes the wind,
Pushing it from every direction,
Not for helping,
But to lead towards end.

It has smooth surface,
With good things as water,
And bad ones as fire,
Heating it slowly.

It leaves itself free,
And moves with the wind;
Which leads it against right,
And after that;
Against gravity.

It is rising and rising upward,
Unaware of obstacles in path,
And reaches a pin
that stroked to the last exhale.

Finally, the hand reaches the balloon again,
But this time, with unhappiness.

It was a height of 250 metres,
But I wasn’t afraid;
I looked down
And there wasn’t even my shade.
The sun was already jumping
But with a low speed,
“ I can perform better,
I am not going to give the lead.”

Took a deep breath
And I was in air,
Time stopped,
And silence reached there.
The sun began moving upward,
Or I began moving downward,
I was flying,
But like a dead bird.

When from the ground,
I wasn’t really high;
Mind said,“ change in plan,
Let the sun first die”.