Pencils and Erasors

Fascinated, I watch my 4B ambling, skating, tiptoeing, waltzing in wild ecstasy, over spotless, fresh paper. Grey soot rubbing over silky white in long, even strokes.

As I write out my every day,

the graphite often slips, trips, smudges

across the pristine scapes of an unexplored life.

Every morning I carve out the letters of a perfect day-

To love, to live, to spread the joy around.

Yet somewhere along the line, I meet moments I’d like to unlive;

Undo, live all over again—this time better than the last.

Some days I want to be an angel

yet allow another to steal away my peace,

Some days I see the path I ought to tread

Yet stray away, sowing hurt along the way.

And yet, through all these some days, there are always people

Who choose to forgive, to forget, to erase out my flaws and still believe in me,

Overlook the scars left over time.

As I write out my tomorrows, one scribble at a time,

I remind myself that every day I have a choice:

To start anew, to write afresh.

Perfect or not, my pencil writes on.

You can choose to let the graphite run till the carbon runs to meet its end

Or keep it sharpened and poised indefinitely over a clean slate.

To exist and never make a mistake

Or to err as human, rise to live again.