P A P E R   B A L L

I change my diaries,

every now and then,

and flip my pages,

to crumble them,

cut those lines

those words, feelings

which I don’t want

or am too intimidated

to acknowledge.

I let those rhymes,

stay unfinished,

in those diaries, pages,

as I push them back

the thoughts, daunting ones

and I crush them down

as they try, to resurface

as they endeavor

to halt me flee from myself.

Am I too scared,

to encounter them?

or too fragile, to accept it?

or unprepared

or I lack the valor

to ogle within myself?

That vicious one,

that careless one,

the one that I have
begun to resent,

the one that I, yet

somehow wish to sustain

the one that is,

unshackled from the world

the one that does not

meet any parameters,

the one that desperately

seeks emancipation

the one that is still

not losing hopes.

That reckless piece of mine,

that I am crushing down,

in crumbled pieces of pages

that I am turning down

as I run away from myself,

from the self that I adore,

but am too bounded

to applause,

its beauty, its grandeur.

As I am busy,

shooing away these thoughts,

which make me, me

and not an amalgamation

of what others want me to be.

As they, them all

are running in their own lives,

unable to fathom, unaffected

by my unfinished poetries,

and crippling thoughts.

And they mock

they mock as my pile heaps up,

pile of those thoughts

in those turned down pages

which I flipped,

as I pretended to have moved on

And they mock,

they mock those untouched pages

in those bare empty diaries,

congested with void, despair

and thoughtlessness,

that reached its brim

and spilled the beans

of my miserable heart

hence, ripped down

and thrown away

like a crumbled piece of

paper ball.