Once, A Pencil
Once, A Pencil
The tree, my mother, gave birth to me
As a rough sharp piece and very ugly,
My sisters and brothers were just the same,
Always grumbling of being so lame.
A few days later, we were taken away,
From our dear mother without even a say,
To a huge building, full of these so-called men,
And into a machine as wide as a den.
Surrounded by darkness, not knowing what to do then,
We kept close together for the worst to happen,
We were made into a cylinder, thick and round,
I jumped out of my wood, but stood my ground.
They made a long hole from my foot up to my head,
And pushed a black tube into it, saying it was lead,
I bit my tip, which was about to break,
With the constant fear of what I would make.
The machine gave us lots of colourful clothes,
Some with cartoons, glitter, some with both,
Again, we were pushed into the welcoming light,
But then to eerie boxes, what a miserable plight!
Rumbling on, the truck went on its way,
To the shops of town, to give us away,
We fearfully thought of our future ahead,
That the truck was driving into, right to its shed.
A little later, as I opened my eyes,
I was staring at a girl who looked so nice,
Her soft little fingers gripped hard at me,
But I made no attempt to get myself free.
I was taken to her cute little home,
Kept on the table by her mom,
As I thought of the peace I had then,
A little boy raced up and threw me again and again.
He flung me up, he flung me down,
Broke my tip while juggling like a clown,
The worst part was when I was pushed into the mouth
Of the sharpener, where I wanted to shout.
From that day on, I lived over there,
In a pencil box, that was actually bare,
I started hating life, oh! so dull,
And the breaking of my cone skull.
I got bitten, I got chewed,
I became a pencil so far from new,
I got naked, I got scratches,
Always envying all the other batches.
Life went on like this every day,
My beautiful skin started to go gray,
I got fed into the sharpener’s mouth, even though I tried,
My tears were shed into the waste bin, every time I cried.
I got short and short till I became
A dwarf with the age of a grandfather with a cane,
My end was near, I got less used,
Just like a bulb that had got fused.
My eyes started to force themselves shut
And saw the last sight before I got thrown in my waste hut,
I flew into it for my last day,
And just sat still, and there I lay.