Nupur Chaturvedi

Who am I but the last leaf
In a four-leaf clover
Unaware of the power
I could yield, if only I knew.

Who am I but the vacant house
About to be occupied
Unaware of the dreams
That I am about to fulfil.

Who am I but the rim of a cup
On the verge of brimming
Unaware conduit of succour
For the waiting lips.

Who am I
If not possibilities
If not almost there
If not for that one gentle push
If not perfection minus one?

I am all that and more.