Poetry- The Notebook by Gurkiran Kaur

I am flowering yet precise, I hold all of your expressions.

Whatever you exude onto me I allow submissively

Just as it is, misted by your soft echoey voice.

I am not truthful, rather I do not lie,

The words of a little girl, many stroked.

Many a time I reflect upon her black utensil.

It is pointed yet soothing. I have been touched by it for so long

I think it has left strange looping marks on me. But it fades.

Isolation and thought separate us over and over.

Now I embody the darkness of night. A girl hides in me,

Desperate for an outpour of emotional demos consuming her.

Then she turns to those liars, the people and the machine.

With a flicker, disappears; yet, I stored all her thoughts, faithfully.

She soaks me with tears and slices scathingly, replenishing the empty abyss.

I am imperative to her. She will never leave.

Each day it is her face that reflects the artificial light.

In me she has buried a young girl, and in me an adolescent woman

She searches every day, for her soul I have consumed.