Stained not torn

From the perception

Of my minds still novice eye

Every person is a sheet of white paper

And emotions, clinking glass bottles of each uniquely staining dye

All sheets born with no crinkles

And slowly age with ever-beautifying wrinkles

Lifeless objects which as time persists

Cease to exist

Are pieces of binding tape

No matter how seemingly steady it holds the paper together

One day,

It will be torn away

And when the deed takes place

A part of the paper goes with the tape

The stronger the bond the man creates

The more of her it rips and frays

The pieces of tape now refusing to stay

To the bin we tearfully take

The same destination of its ancestors and children

Who’re made even attractive and last a lesser age

People are pens

Thoughts, ideas and lessons to the paper they lend

Some of these utensils might and will pen ugly words

And few sheets absorb its crookedly used ink

And allow it to overpower the countless delicious phrases

While other sheets don’t let them seep

And only learn

And yearn to let the reader know

Those words only keep their principles ablaze

Some pen words of surreal beauty and unadulterated love

Into the paper meaning and understanding is shoved

Such paper keep widening

And seem so enthralling

To recite and read.

The ink infused in

Can only be concealed but never removed

Regardless of whether ludicrous or not

Or whether black or blue

Cannot be ripped away

Unlike destructive temporary strips of tape

And for sure the paper plays a role

In its destiny and its goal

It chooses what words must shine and grow

Into the reader’s mind and home

Together the syllables buried in snow

And the ones who’re left to with no interference glow

Of the blank sheet of boring paper.

Make a glorious poem.

Excerpt from “The See-Saw Souls” by 

Kaanthal Manikandan

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