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The World of Thrown Things

By Aishwarya Thakur


We threw the cups we once had kissed,

The letters, toys, the gifts we missed.

Each little thing held time and care,

Now lost, forgotten, in the air.


We tossed the blankets, torn and old,

The scarves, the hats, the hands we hold.

A photograph, a broken frame,

A whispered name, a flickering flame.


We threw away the laughter too,

The tiny smiles, the morning dew.

The songs we sang, the games we played,

The hugs we gave, the love displayed.


We made a market out of hearts,

Turned human warmth to soulless parts.

Gold, silver, coins, and greed,

Replaced the things our souls would need.


The thrown things gathered, strong and wise,

They watched the world, they heard our lies.

The toys, the letters, the memories torn,

They swelled with pain, they waited, sworn.


One day we’ll throw our love away,

Like empty shells, like yesterday.

The warmth we gave, the care we shared,

Will rise as armies, unprepared.


Gold and greed will fight and shout,

Coins will clink while hearts burn out.

We’ll bite and claw, destroy, betray,

And steal our neighbours, day by day.


But all the things we cast aside,

The little tokens, all our pride,

Will rise like storms, will fill the sky,

And make us see what money can’t buy.


The toys, the cups, the letters old,

The blankets warm, the scarves we fold,

Will march with power, will take the land,

And we will fall with empty hands.


We’ll find our gold and luxury gone,

Our palace empty at the dawn.

All that we hoarded, all that we stole,

Cannot warm the hollow soul.


The thrown things whisper, scream, and shine,

We are not yours; we are divine.

Each memory, each gift of care,

Will rise and say: you’re bare. Beware.


And then we’ll see, too late, too true,

All we destroyed was part of you.

No coin, no gold, no empty fame,

Can hold a heart, can keep a flame.


So, hold your treasures, small and near,

The cup, the hug, the letter dear.

For when you throw your heart away,

It will rise stronger, and you will pay.


By Aishwarya Thakur

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