Criss-cross, criss cross –
the scissor-blades go zig-zag.
Heads and joined arms,
joined toes and hem of skirts –
the paper unravels into
two-dimensional dolls
in multiples of ten.
I toss one more of it to the trash bin
spilling out hundreds of this obsession.
They were my army,
with no eyes, ears or mouth,
or even a nostril, let alone a nose.
And they knew nothing about
living or surviving,
let alone fighting.
I do not take offense
on their behalf,
upon their inanimity –
we are just one of them, you and me.
¥°¥°¥
In love,
our hearts flutter
like paper dolls decorating
our childhood room.
In pain,
we crumple crisply,
the papery rustle filling
our emptiness.
Their wholeness is only
a part of us.
¥°¥°¥
I separate the held hands,
unhook their toes,
singling them,
breaking the chain of monotony
and consistency.
Disorder is innate,
a few paper dolls shall not
rewrite it.
– April 21st, 2016
© Sana Rose 2016
A wonderfully constructed,deftly wrought poetic work of emotional empathy,insight and maturity.
An exquisite piece of poetic craftsmanship with a brilliant ending.
Thank you dear Vijay sir. 🙂 A NAPOWRIMO write. 🙂
Thank you very much, Louis. 🙂
Beautiful poem….. I remember trying that as a child….Well at least yours had heads Sana
A smile for that, John. 🙂 Thank you!