Cuts from pristine crisp yellow pages 

leading to a moonlit night 

beside the waves      

with the onomatopoeia of the lapping waters 

against your feet

and the warmth from the

fire beside

 

Cuts from letters

not pronouncing love

but charges for services with “friendly reminder” written in red

and an occasional congratulations 

and seasonal “vote for me”s

 

Cuts from unwrapping gifts,

a temporary discomfort

to be borne for the

larger reward

‘cause what’s life without hurt?

(atleast, so they say)

 

I wear my “cuts”

like a brave army general

on the lapel of my uniform

close to my heart

For, its them that made 

me a general

from the mere civilian 

I used to be