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Number

Written by Writer Odangchetla and Edited by Mrinali Jadhav

At one,
I must have mended hearts.
For I became the reason, a new family sprung.
Joy wrote those words,
And I found it written in my parent’s hearts.

At six,
And the years that followed,
Poetry flowed from heart to heart.
Some syllabic expressions faded into shady remembrance.
But memories of girlhood remains protected as art,
 to be kept alive.

At fourteen,I found a companion.
The most powerful of them all.
Not a crowd of many friends,
But one called a paper.
This one took a great leap, 
As if to catch the precious meteor,
Streaming across the galaxies of my mind.(She kept it safe, all of it)

At twenty,I discovered,
Happiness alone is not worthy to be sung through man’s lips.
Pain too,Has the ability to transfigure, 
into poetry.
Traffic lights too.
For poetry seeps into every soul,
And so you may look deeper-
Now that I’m gifting myself poetry,
I’m gifting myself a part of everyone that can read this.

At sixty.
And beyond.How many gifts would I have collected?Unfolding each page.
The ones that I wrote with the moon,
The ones that I wrote with the sun.
How much better will it be to have the key,
To turn the lock of the gift?
-The gift of poetry, I gift myself today.

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