Crafted into Kintsugi

photo credit: gfycat.com

As my fragmented bits were crumbling,
they came back for even more.
I attempted with all my might
to protect all that was in me, inside.
But it took me by surprise,
their evil conspiracy finally being realized.
Paralyzed as I fell,
crippled into hell.

photo credit : en.wikipedia.org

Now At Ground Zero,
here I lay low.
I can see mankind and the world,
as they look at me down below.
Passing me by;
as they all still glow.
Just a mere spectacle,
my hollow life….so slow, so slow, so slow.
Glory days seem past me,
all part of some ancient history.
My secrets remain all, but a mystery.
Only written in books
of flowing waters;
sometimes they remember me,
in the memories of their jotters.

Though all the rubble and the dust
must have made me look like rust;
just like the phoenix,
I will rise in a magnificent scenic.
With a new foundation
stronger than that Jericho nation
my walls will stay still.
So let it rain more;
Oh, let it pour!
Because I’m not afraid of crumbling anymore.
Fresh, still bleeding;
these wounds still sore.
I promise one day you’ll see me roar.
A mighty warrior is being built.
Oh! Little do they know;
just wait till I finally grow.

photo credit : archiveofourown.org
pic credit: lookingfortherainbows.wordpress.com

Laugh now at my dismembered body,
because I look all shoddy.
All my paint slivered to peels;
Mutilated and fragmented, me in kneels.
My foundation lost somewhere,
my bones are in despair.
True, I’ll never return to my former;
but I’ll not always be quivering in the corner.
This new, made from rubble still,
Cemented, He’s already paid the bill.

pic credit: edtimes.in

Like kintsugi, my scars won’t fade.
No, there won’t be a new cup made of jade.
But this that joineth and resurrect me.
I’ll be functional still.
My beauty – not some decorated frill.
The whispers of history and
the gold that joineth me.
Just like kintsugi, I’ll still be.
I’ll not disappear or be lost forever.
But His precious glory will shine within me. His gold within my old;
in all my broken parts,
I can and will restart.
Precious, though still a scarred, broken pot.
I’ll still hold in water,
because I’m His daughter.
And function effectively,
just because of all that gold collectively.
When all discarded in mere pity,
this gold attached itself
to beautify and make me pretty.
Like a sweet little elf
with the sacred art of …Kintsugi

Ruelha
 dedicated to my resilient mother Yvette D’Souza

I love my Mommy


5 Comments

    1. Thank you Anonymous πŸ˜ŠπŸ™πŸ˜ŠπŸŒˆπŸ˜ŠπŸ€©πŸ˜Š….siblings….hmm….now I’m wondering who could this be? πŸ€”πŸ˜ŠπŸŽ€

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