The Purple Balloon

By Rukshani Weerasooriya

We bought them off the noisy streets of Petah.
I would never have guessed
That a little borrowed air from Thaththi
Could turn them into a glorious group of bounce-able
Colours to play with.

They were intended to make our Christmas fun.
He had gone so recently.
It had all happened so fast.
His smell had not yet left his room
Or his green and white t-shirt
Which Ammi kept in her cupboard.
Ammi and Thaththi thought balloons would help.
And they did. Sometimes.

The neighbours trooped in
And we played in a mad rush
As if to forget.
Dhanuka chose a purple balloon,
And it became a football
To kick.

But when the room was empty
I let my heart embrace
The lonely rubber.
It was little. And the other balloons
Could not have understood.
"I'll be your friend".

Akki picked it up later
To replace its air with water.
And soon pieces of purple rubber
Were strewn all over the place.
She was sorry.
I knew that.
She didn't mean to.

It was my turn to burst –
And the tiny, confused tears of a six-year-old
Were strewn all over the place.
I couldn't understand why love
Seemed so wasted,
And could not be brought back.

I was taken to his empty room,
Where a few months ago
I had sat on his tummy to listen to a story.

Thaththi opened his cupboard drawer –
That's where we kept the spare balloons
That needed air.
There were bunches of them!
Speckled ones, shiny ones, big ones!
But there was no other purple balloon.

And there, sitting on his bed -
The striped orange bedspread
And the big orange pillow he once slept on –
Thaththi and I remembered again,
That he was gone.
And that life was full of purple balloons to love
Even if they had to burst in the end.

In memory of Rajeev Weerasooriya, February 8 1973 – June 9 1989