Paper Planes: A Poem On Unreciprocated Love with Paper planes as a medium of feelings.
As I fold the last piece of the paper
It turns out to be a crooked paper plane.
It asks for a fly amidst the raindrops
Throwing it with a certain hope.
Will it land on your side?
Will it wake you up?
I look up the balcony
With no sign of you
The paper plane starts to crumble
The moist sweat gets it.
Another paper plane
Another day to look up the balcony.
I walk past you.
No sign of me in your memory.
The paper plane lands on your feet.
Did it wake you up?
The hustle inside me
As I meditate “breathe in and breathe out”
Calls for another paper plane
Folding it again.
The paper plane merely touches your aura.
Did it wake you up?
Unsuccessful theft happened and caught.
A glance that couldn’t be mine,
Was the treasure,
Immeasurable one.
Paper.
Fold.
Crease.
Fold.
Thrown.
Crumbled.
As I run away from you
As far as I can
With the last breath that I hold
I plop down as I reach the end.
Looking back seeing you as a tiny dot
A dot like a pin
Sharp enough to burst
Burst my existence.
Looking down
A paper plane in my hand
All this time.
Crumbled and crooked.
It never was thrown
And I hoped it would wake you up?
This crooked and soiled paper plane?
Are you awake?
I run back to my abode of past
Heavy panting
Blurred vision
And find a casket
Opening the casket of my memories of failure, I find hundreds of paper Planes
Broken beaks
Crooked flaps.
Will it land on you?
Will it wake you up?
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