My Paper
Photo 'Notes at Cafe' by KevMinh1205, all rights reserved.
I must write, for it must be written
Written is how I see this text as I pause, and then reflect
I must, I must recite aloud, ludicrously loud.
As I sit, to impress, to impress I dress
So dignified I will address
Stressed, this is how, how my words cling to this sheet
The untidy hand, handwriting only interpreted by its author
Retrospectively self-righteous
For no stranger neither I, truly understands the implied meaning of this verse
Which rests reassuringly upon a text, it has no idea what it has been chosen to behold
A detailed description, of why the letters inscription
Is clung, to such a material as paper, and not the other way around
Though many trees have come into contact with my head,
I cannot admit to have left an impression of my work imprinted on its bark proud.
Why, then do I sit a rogue rhymer dwelling, not writing on a matter?
Which meditates my thoughts somewhere, somewhat supremely significant
It is precisely ardent that I tell the history of the text
Once scrapped from an extended tool of expression
Trailing characters unarticulated that hadn’t anticipated a crowd.
Never waited upon or rated on, this piece of paper is subjected to bursts of knowledge
Or structured events, either way it rests head strong, line-by-line nature’s sublime
Messages are merely a montage of magnificence, tragically trapped within a self-Representation of a talent torn From tallness, uncultivated, and shun from praise
My ideas rest, a gift for the modern age.
Although feelings of confinement do not posses, it feels great
When reading, what I have extracted off from my chest
My memory remains short, stumped and strained
Writing it down, surrounds this piece with a trace of my reflection
I hold this medium, and project it beyond any sort of recollection
A revolutionary release, of repressed rage.
I might, I might, I shall, and I will, I have a choice, I will
Choose to rest upon this piece of paper, so I can relate, not take and fake
But only so my boredom can be staged, I must write, behold, what’s upon this page…
By Afshin Rohani
