Uncut
Thursday 27 August 2026
poetry
Uncut
In the hush before the blade, a sheet lies waiting, pure and unmade, its edges smooth as morning mist, a promise held in quiet twist.
No scissors yet have whispered there, no ruler’s line to tare or tare, the paper breathes, a virgin page, where thoughts may roam without a cage.
We cherish this untouched expanse, the potential in each silent glance, for once the cut begins to fall, the story starts—and answers call.
