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A Gaping Hole
I am all of seven years, wonderstruck and happy, my smile says!
Iím talking about my photo, taken in a formal studio.
It seems, after they had taken my younger brotherís photo, I was adamant and refused to budge until and unless mine was taken.
I peer closer.
Yes! My cheeks are tear-stained.
A big gaping hole where my incisors had to be.
I smile through flooding memories of my father posing for every photo he asks us to take, even now, at a ripe old age of 87. In which way I wonder does a photo have power over a memory, or does it really?
I walk the wave
far into the sea
as I am
the breathless one
"_kala" is the pen name of Kala Ramesh