Burst

Burst
In the quiet of a summer morning,
a red balloon slips from a child's grasp,
its silk sighs against the blue,
then—pop!—a sudden burst of colour
splinters the air, scattering confetti
like laughter caught in a sudden gust.

The kettle whistles, steam erupts,
a tiny eruption in the kitchen,
while beyond the window,
a thundercloud gathers its charge,
ready to burst forth in a drumming roll
that rattles the windowpanes.

Even hearts can burst—
with joy that swells too wide,
with sorrow that spills over,
each pulse a fragile bubble
waiting for the moment
when the world says “go”
and we spill ourselves
into the bright, trembling light.