Paper On My Table.
It fritters, unable to be stable,
heavy with
the concerns of my import,
freedom
it takes into its flimsy hands,
flies ,far
beyond its boundaries, but,
the paper struggles
out with rhythmic
notes of opposition, carrying all heavily
endorsed
outpourings and pent up feelings.
You sit there
tight on the table, with a name
Paper weight, the paper defying
you still.
I
indulge in tete-e –tete ,
I sit
there laughing at your tenacity, now
weightless sill, for
the gush of winds
blew
form my window, sitting nearby,
my
much adored papers , the other end,
closely eying, flying away, scarred,
from you,
from
me as well.
My imaginative output on the
Paper is gone, you are no longer
A
weight, you are now feathery.
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