The Pen And The Paper

The paper trembled,

Under the sharp jabs of the pen.

Flinching under the sharp strikes of the pen,

As it tried to put feelings into words.

The paper quivered,

As the pen kept moving.

Again,

And again;

And again.

The pen paused then,

And the paper sighed in relief;

"Is it finally over?"

Thought the paper;

"Can I breathe now-

Without dreading the jab of the pen again?"

But it wasn't over;

The pen started writing again.

Angrier now;

Imprinting words on the paper.

Meaningless words,

On the battered paper.

Worthless words,

With no sense or shape.

The paper trembled,

But the pen wrote on.

Then suddenly;

The pen paused again,

And crossed out the last word it had written.

And the word before that,

And then the word before that.

Angry strokes of the pen;

Striking off the words,

It had written earlier;

Hurting in reverse.

Again and again it crossed the words,

Tearing the paper in those places.

Carving dents in the paper

With those angry jibes;

Knowingly or unknowingly.

The paper cried

As its tiny shreds floated to the ground,

In wisps of torn white.

Then the rage passed.

And the pen saw,

What it had done and wept.

But the paper just lay;

Shredded in tatters.

Some shreds lying with the pen,

And some shreds floating around them,

Swept in the soundless winds of fate.