So this is how you fold a 1000 paper cranes,
One at a time, and the rest remain.
I folded a thought of cranes so deep in my mind,
I do not even remember, folding one of that kind.
No words can truly capture that, except maybe for love?,
Of how tenacity just continued to blossom, from above.
There was no moment when I wasn’t sleep-deprived,
looking out into the night, your face I visualized.
And bleeding from a dozen paper cuts, more cranes I fold,
Pressed on just one more crane, crisp and bold.
Each time I counted, even the sum converged in arbitrary,
Though there was one hanging in every corner of the dormitory.
The main significance of the number at last,
was that they do not sell that huge glass jars.
Now on the darkest nights, the shadows on the waves,
lift from my fallen eyes upon a cloud of cranes.
They march across the sky, a 1000 in a line,
To keep their watch upon my wish, in real-time.
All those 1000 paper cranes were folded with care and hope,
Each crease a testament to the tenacity of souls.
Letting each crane soar forever high,
Granting that one precious wish, Sigh!