I was on the table,
as the fan moved,
i felt my cover moving up,
everytime I tried very hard
but i couldn't move up high,
I wanted to tell a story,
I wanted to open my pages,
I wanted to be read,
I wanted to be heard,
I wanted to be touched,
I wanted someone to understand me,
but i couldn't open
because I was bound...
Then one day, at a stall, among others like me,
i was happy to be on top!
someone came and just looked at me
and I was purchased!!
he flipped the pages like I was a toy,
he touched me to smell like I was a rose,
he moved his fingers like I was not valuable,
he threw me like I was not important,
but I still felt good that at least i got touched!
He put me with others on his table,
thought came, I had just changed places.
but anyways, still at a height,
i was happy to be on top!
He shuffled me with others like cards
and there i was,
grounded by the weight of the society
some rich, some poor
laughed at me
this is life, roared the people
if you are not the best,
a story unheard, You'll be dumped!
I ignored because I knew my worth...
Days passed and a year went by,
i was lying there, sometimes touched,
but none came to read me
weighed down by others who rose above me
i suffocated to be opened
but none came.
And then one day,
flying in the air, I landed on a pile of rotten papers,
my pages burnt and I left the world
My story unread......
YOU ARE READING
A book that wanted to be opened but couldn't
Poetrya poem on how a story wanted to unfold but no one paid heed. A book was proud to be on top of the books at the selling counter but the one who purchased it just judged it by its cover, he didn't even read it. The book wanted someone who could unders...