Potter who made me…..

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I was like 6 kg of dirty clay,
When my father deposited me onto the hand of a potter,
1996, this was the year I was about to be built,
Naive and innocent, I was nothing,
Far from world, far from existence,
I was just a thing that needs to be kneaded again and again,
And that potter did the same thing, days and years,
With all his efforts and skills,
Even though dirty and stinky,
He kneaded and kneaded,
With a hope, with a vision,
With a dream of masterpiece,

A different relationship,
Some sort of love he had on me,
Some sort of belonging,
Like his own body part,
He shared his ecstatic moments and cared me,
He colored me with different aspects of life,
Adore me with smiles,
Taught me with tears,
Rebuked me with stutter,
And,
I learned life, I learned world,
I learned beauty,
I learned that dirty clay,
I learned the potter,
His sacrifices, his happiness and his me…….

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