The Fixers

The hungriest thing that
ever lived was her mind,
no matter what she did
an ache she would still find.
She slogged on with words,
wrote them down like some nerd.

You simply amaze me
when you create something,
a song, a paper boat
or coloured beaded string.
Please teach me, she exclaimed,
her passion brightly flamed.

Then she met him one day
walking down the dirt road,
slightly bent he too was,
from carrying his load.
“What’s that”, she dared to ask,
“Tell me”, took him to task.

He smiled quite benignly
as he looked down at her,
All my treasures in there,
he said in a murmur.
“Ah!”, she could hardly wait,
Popped her head in straight.

A broken toy, torn song,
a bruised heart, dusty dream,
floating around inside
amidst silver moonbeams.
She looked almost flustered;
dismayed at the clutter.

So! Let’s get creative
Don’t just stand there, he said.
Here is my Superglue
That can fix all, I bet. 
And they are fixing still.
He keeps her hungry still.
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Anne Adarsh

Anne Adarsh is a radiologist by profession but finds herself repeatedly returning to her first love in all things. Poetry. A self-confessed Recluse also blessed (or cursed perhaps!), with an insatiable curiosity to learn new things, writing to her, means a landscape in her mind's eye, to which she can always escape to, whenever life closes in on her.

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