Thorn- Between The Pages Poem by Shreej k.c

Once she was scribbling on her diary, bit restless
I could see a gaping into its thickness.
I asked her if I could see what lies that raises
she turned to reveal a thorn between the pages.

[I see people pressing flowers and leaves
Strange! here you have been saving a thorn.
what if a day it pierces with the pages you turn]

'People donot press flowers or leaves
People press what they receive-
souvenirs, sweet promises, beautiful memories.
I did not press them. I received none.
Sometimes you have to save the thorn
because if a day, you finally get rid of it,
heal without leaving any scar,
you must save it to save you
from forgetting a journey,
you were led/misled afar
until you changed the course of course;
to remind you at times,
exactly when you were pricked
played as if you were seeking the game.
exactly where you were tricked
treated indifferently as if you were to blame.
exactly how you were bricked
bated as if few miles covered were lame.

You see you have to save the thorn
to remind you at times,
how it claimed to have adored
the flower, falsely,
when it bloomed in the summer
feigned to keep from buzzing bees awhile
then when autumn came, like a sadist
watched the petals fall-
bare, wilted, immobile...
If a day, a sudden earthfall
is to uproot the root,
I know it shall detach from root itself
and continue to thrive
for if there is one thing hardest,
it is the Nature to change.
It will grow stiffer, ostensibly sapid
keep abrading every soft skin vapid
before it hardly ever decays.'

[I see Anna, when innocence dies, tenderness burns
plain or intricate; opulent or spartan
Everyone learns, saving these thorns.]