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People are made of paper
fashioned into colourful kites
fired by dreams burning in the bosom
to pluck a star from the sky,
make it their own vehicle,
reach the pinnacle of success
and seamlessly traverse in life.

People are made from paper
folded into figures of origami,
we fold and tear by the rings
of love and hate, our heart breaks with each ache, buried and burned by cruel mistakes, we break like confetti to be remodeled again by fate in the kiln of kintsugi.

People are made of paper
blank canvases to be painted
in a palette of hues,
vividly plumed or blurred sepia,
by the irreversible decree of time
propelled by the pricks of circumstance.

People are made of paper
with creases and folds
to hide our emotions
not litter it for all,
weave poesies and elegies
yet yearn to reach a soul
to walk with us in this world
singing ballads of eternal love.