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I never knew I was so fragile

that I’d be reduced to pieces

like a china cup

at one knock.

Neither did I know

those living close to my heart

were all Kintsugi artists.

They lovingly collected

all the shards, that was my soul

and mended with words of gold.

Now I’m a Kintsugi vase,

broken yet whole.



Posted for Poets United Midweek Motif ~ Kintsugi: Art of mending



22 thoughts on “Kintsugi

  1. Yes, we fix ourselves and often we are better for it. It is a pity that as consumers we tend not to do that so much with the things we buy but rush out for a replacement rather than attempt a repair. What a beautiful poem this is Sumana.

  2. ” . . . those living close to my heart
    were all Kintsugi artists.”
    And their art helped you be you–soul full–not a reflection of them.
    I love thinking of self as a very beautiful and useful mended vase!
    Those times I lay in shards making me more, more.

  3. Pingback: The Trouble with Bonding | Hephaestus’ Waste & Cosmic Rubble

  4. Beautiful…and I am just thinking about this dazzling world with so many kintsugi artists! And more awe-inspiring …are the kintsugi friends who constantly mend and heal us! You have a kind heart, Sumana! Love you❤️

Thank You :)

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