By Guneet Kaur
She has a paper, pure and bright
Smooth as silk, a flawless white.
Ready to bear the tales of all,
to hold their dreams, great and small.
Then came He with careless hands, no ink of love, no heartfelt plans.
He didn't write- he crushed instead, left her creased ,her spirit dead.
Wrinkled ,torn, she lay undone, waiting again for the gentle one.
And he returned, with a touch so might, smoothen her back to gleaming white.
She rejoiced- a hope anew.
Yet again ,the cycle grew.
Crumpled ,crushed then smoothened once more, like a possession to break and restore.
No stories penned ,no love ,no art...
Only the weight that broke her heart
Each time, he stamped her to the ground,
She wished he'd lift her and mend her crown.
And then once more, beneath his feet; but this time, she rose COMPLETE.
No waiting hands to set her right, she straightened up and found her light.
No longer the paper soft and thin,
No longer tossed into the bin.
She sealed herself, she elevated; forever strong, forever LAMINATED.33