I was this folded paper,
Lying on the floor,
Moving and halting
On it own accord.
How would have I known I was worth being picked,
For there wasn't anyone to notice me,
Or pick me up.
And then came the fierce wind,
That made me slide so fast,
Only to be stuck on your fingers.
The three unfolds you did,
Wrote some words on me and folded me again,
Threw me only to land in your lover’s hair.
Unfolding me, she smiled reading those words,
For they held the promises that you told,
Writing some promises herself,
She returned me to you,
After reading those words,
But, Alas! I was so unworthy,
That you tore me into pieces,
For the fear of being caught
You scrambled me and threw.
Little did you noticed,
You turned my white to red.
Oh! The love of my life,
Listen to my other side now,
My strength again did rise.
Those winds unruffled me as now I am in bits,
I swim free in the winds,
My each piece searching for you.
Not because I want your guise,
But because I have seen the beauty of my white,
In your eyes.
Poem by Hajra( @hajra.s98
) | Withered Weedy Writers.
From beautiful narratives and cliffhangers to the help you need to avoid small talk, books are the ones that never really leave your side.
So this World Book Day, WWWe celebrate books, the magical teleportation portals that we've somehow stumbled upon.
Hope you're read-y, because we sure are.
Introducing [Poem], with the beauty we bind in our verses, expressing the untold, WWWe hope to make you sigh every time you look us up.
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