The Teacher

A wayward piece, full of flaws,

Wastrel of a paper it was.

Till it found hands that knew

How to devise things that flew.

Meticulously molded,

Purposefully folded

With a distinct design.

Then left to resign

To the powers of the winds.

Then satisfied, he grinned

At the glorious sight,

Of its unbridled flight.


Pic credit: Annie Spratt


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Written by Sai

When thoughts began to rhyme,
And lines found a heartbeat,
I transformed from a dentist to a poet.

Little Fingers

My First Teacher