Tuesday, February 28, 2017

Folded and Untold

Today, I was picked up for a change after a long time. I felt the touch of your skin. That sensuous touch. Felt a little melancholic to be remembered after a long time.

It is surprising sometimes to be a victim of racism even though I am white. I have been around for ages and, been the true and only representation of what comes out of your mind. I have gone through abuse, crushed and thrown.

May be, I am replaced as much as possible. But I will never be extinct.

In the most intimate and difficult times, I have seen your blood and lipstick.

I am the Paper. And this is my monologue. I have carried several of your stories all through my life, and this is my story while I battle my depression.

Imagine this. Just before every award function, the anticipated notes with names to thank gets written on me and kept folded in the chest pocket. Only one wins the award and rest bites the dust as nominees. Four out of five times I never get opened. I remain folded and often end up abandoned.

Vishy
27 Feb 2017.
dreamvis.blogspot.com