My earliest memory
is that of crying
inconsolably over my
swirly lacy sky-blue
frock that got stained by
the petrol fumes of
our old Ambassador car,
and being picked by
those not so strong arms
of my fragile-looking Baba
who immediately promised
to buy another swirlier,
lacier and more blue one
in the colour of a limitless
open sky where my dreams
and imagination would fly
like an intrepid bird.
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