A Random Piece of Paper...

I am a random piece of paper, flying with the wind, fluttering at times like butterfly and at times gliding like a bird. Sometimes I am lonely and at times I am buzzing with emotions, and friends. I learnt to make friends, to listen and to understand them- the wayward plastic, the concrete roads, the uneven broken down paths, the enigmatic cotton seeds. The leaves are my closest friends; the dried ones they fly with me soar with me give me company most of the times. 

Sometimes things seem like a dream and at times a nightmare wakes me up from idyllic slumber. Peace comes to me at the strangest of places, but mostly it comes to me when I look inside myself. I have been greased and crumpled, stamped upon and put in the gutter. I have been written upon and I have been used as a packing material. Life goes on and so do I losing myself in pieces slowly with passing time. 

Sometimes I wonder which part of mine will survive, the one that keeps the life as other parts break away. Once I was part of a school child’s holiday assignment, a child so sincere he believed that every paper he worked upon would be deterministic to his future. Later I was recycled to be a part of a girl’s diary a girl who believed that every beat of her heart was pain or laughter, tears or love and there were no other emotions in between. I was used again to be a part of newspaper with news printed on me, news that made me sad and ashamed for the fact that I was displaying it. I have always wondered why are human beings so fascinated by news that is bad and why do they want to discuss it the most. When will they realize that the illusion that ‘it can’t happen to me’ is just an illusion and not a reality embedded in concrete. 

Reality changes and illusions shatter but human beings never seem to wake up. Anyways I guess I should leave them to their lives and their perceived illusions of freedom.

Speaking of freedom I once felt free when I got stuck to a train, the gust of wind blowing me, the ever accelerating gust purging my soul and when I finally felt as if I was on the verge of achieving salvation the train started to slow down and I hit the ground and my dreams once again crash landed into ground realities. I learnt to smile, whenever I cried it would start making me weaker and my tissues would come under immense strain so I learnt to smile even when my heart questioned me. I learnt it was not that hard to smile at whatever life throws at you once you decide, it seems unfair at times but does it matter. 

Sometimes I wonder if it would have been better had I been bound with my family as a part of a book, or this life that I chose as a wanderer, as a nomad is what I yearned for. Was it better to stay together safe and secure or to venture out into the unknown, hoping and looking for things I didn’t know existed but trusting my creator. You tell me, how would I know? I am just a random piece of paper.


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