Abhishek Bhovar

Abhishek Bhovar Poems

The Best Poem Of Abhishek Bhovar

The Sharpener

The pencil sharpener was in a bit of a pickle,
He was tired of people thinking he's shallow and fickle.

See he met lots of pencils who he twisted and turned,
They never wanted him to stop, even if it ached or burned.
Then they'd move on with their lives, full of purpose and point,
And leave him feeling empty, with a loosened blade and joint.

They thought he was free, golly he sometimes thought so too,
They thought he was happy - how he wish that were true!

You see his blade only became sharp after it had been roughly cut,
And then pressed into his body with a screw and a nut.
The world then labelled him ‘sharpener' and put him on display,
And people flocked around and used him, all night, all day.

He awaits the time he'll be free from it all,
He awaits the day his current life will pause, maybe stall.
It'll spit him out into the wilderness and leave him there all alone,
He'll tear off the blade; not stopping to wince, not needing to moan.

And then he can be whatever he wants;
A carrot, a button, a fish, a croissant.
He can jump, and run, and neigh like a horse,
And roll around at the beach, and learn to speak Morse!

What he doesn't know however and should never be told,
Is that his actual future will be much darker and cold.

He'll move from a bag, to a truck, to a pit,
Where he'll be crushed and mixed with tiny plastic bits,
Then all this splodge will be heated and melted together,
And emerge from the factory as a thin light-grey wafer.

And then they'll call it ‘paper' and show it off again to all,
And it'll be scribbled on, and torn up, and scrunched into a ball.
So the sharpener continues to sharpen and grind,
Not knowing that freedom was never meant for his kind.

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