The art of paper folding I know today,
The result of an endless journey,
Through the realm of vivid colours,
Each having its own glitter,
Glued on my paper,
Till the time I will die.
The unknown scissor cuts and folds,
I taped them for now,
But sometimes they tore hard,
Leaving me with the worn paper.
It was not always like this,
The time when my origami glowed,
My papercraft as perfect as a statue,
And as accurate as a dart,
Always winning the hearts,
But now it has become old,
A rusted skill with no use today,
With dull and non approving consents,
My abilities have folded with time,
Leaving only deep scars of despair.
The scrapes of paper still lies on my table,
The folded papers resting beside them,
With no one to engage,
In the silent shadows of coldness,
All the awards covered with dust,
My capabilities draining drop by drop,
Locked in the ethereal cage of distress,
Burning fiercely like paper carbon,
Smoke filling my brain,
Causing the lack of breath in my work.
Once upon a time,
My paperwork flowed across the sky,
Announcing my glory,
The ultimate paper smith’s work,
Everyone praised me for it,
In every way possible,
I climbed the pinnacle,
Not realising the harsh reality,
That after a downfall,
I will be thrown out !
I deeply remember my colleagues,
All the great origami masters,
With different specialisations,
I was one of them,
I crafted the very supreme realm with them,
But now I am alone,
Unable to create the gemstones.
I still last for them,
Left with the very feeling,
Loving something is a game of losing !
Jan 13
Jan 13, 2026 at 1:08 PM UTC
The art of paper folding I know today,
The result of an endless journey,
Through the realm of vivid colours,
Each having its own glitter,
Glued on my paper,
Till the time I will die.
The unknown scissor cuts and folds,
I taped them for now,
But sometimes they tore hard,
Leaving me with the worn paper.
It was not always like this,
The time when my origami glowed,
My papercraft as perfect as a statue,
And as accurate as a dart,
Always winning the hearts,
But now it has become old,
A rusted skill with no use today,
With dull and non approving consents,
My abilities have folded with time,
Leaving only deep scars of despair.
The scrapes of paper still lies on my table,
The folded papers resting beside them,
With no one to engage,
In the silent shadows of coldness,
All the awards covered with dust,
My capabilities draining drop by drop,
Locked in the ethereal cage of distress,
Burning fiercely like paper carbon,
Smoke filling my brain,
Causing the lack of breath in my work.
Once upon a time,
My paperwork flowed across the sky,
Announcing my glory,
The ultimate paper smith’s work,
Everyone praised me for it,
In every way possible,
I climbed the pinnacle,
Not realising the harsh reality,
That after a downfall,
I will be thrown out !
I deeply remember my colleagues,
All the great origami masters,
With different specialisations,
I was one of them,
I crafted the very supreme realm with them,
But now I am alone,
Unable to create the gemstones.
I still last for them,
Left with the very feeling,
Loving something is a game of losing !