I am Puneeth Kumar from
the eyes of my mother,
my grandfather selling cucumber,
the scoldings of my sister,
the corn in the backyard,
the oily smell of pooris.
I am from the injured thumb of my grandpa,
the burnt body of my father,
the cut on my mother’s hand.
I am from the smell of flowers in Shanti Bhavan,
the speeches of my school’s founder,
and the advice of my housemothers.
I am from the blood of my dead father,
the sight of the burning clothes of my mother,
and from the teachings of my teachers.
A Poem by: Puneeth Kumar