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No. 1

Date Written: September 26, 2017

I sat down gazing at my masterpiece- chunky tomatoes, onions mixed in grain

two visitors approached the steps where I crouched to eat out of sight

they were looking for directions to the ceremony, hosted by my Grandfather,

the Head of the Clan and I directed them from my perch not willing

to part from my meal prepared just right

‘Who’s child are you?’, inquired the old crony


She approached the stairs fuming, angry with nostrils flaring

tearing into my tender flesh at three, hurling abuse so caustic,

I might as well die now for the visitors approached her,

with insinuations of being unfit when they had met the Wildling

she stands with hand on heart, declarations made that

she has never laid a hand on her children since birth

Who’s child am I?


Having to bath me, feed me or having to wash my unruly hair or

having to care for me, was beyond her maternal capacity for

she was a high bred Lady, marrying  well below her destiny

she loved three of us with no impediment, even when wrong,

she loved and nurtured them as a daily regiment

I watched from my perch and I had to admit, her propensity

to be No. 1 Mum was well within her stringent grasp


I had sprained my arm, a beating I received,

followed by anger and hatred even if

it was one of her Three that had tripped me

my clothes were worn: tattered, torn and hand-me-downs

Don’t ever frown over this, she who never beats her children, will

Be still and hold your face down on your pillow

until you stop breathing or crying, whichever came first

Who’s child am I?


Her test scores and IQ is the highest we have seen in any child

‘She is mentally unstable’, she explains sweetly to the school

there is no funds to educate her further, for she is not right in the head

her diagnosis could hold true as the several times my head hit

the wall or cold stairs by their hands, could have yielded me dead

Who’s child am I?


‘I don’t want her in my house!’, she instructs

I had moved out due to an altercation:

he had terrorized my grandparents so I beat him

a knife he grabs from the kitchen, chasing after me,

only to be pierced by the scepter at the prayer place,

rendering him a cheat, never to meet again

Who’s child am I?



Emerging out of my desolation, a girl rising

I rose up, soaring higher than expected

a beautiful successful life was my creation

Surprising me, she sought favors, being all nice

the more I gave, the more she played on my kindness

giving nothing in return, was her vice

not a shred of affection did she show

knowing that was what I most yearned for


Who’s child am I?

Does it really matter now, based on what I have earned

By Raising Myself Right

2 comments on “No. 1”

  1. River.Ophelia     September 26, 2017

    another great read, thanks

  2. Subhashchandra B Adhav     September 26, 2017

    No. One —-
    Wonderful poem with nice choice of words –Excellent share!!
    Well done !!!

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