Once Upon a Time There Was a Number

 

                                   Image by Cheska Poon from Pixabay

Once upon a time there was a number

“v

"It began to reckon with itself

It divided multiplied itself
It subtracted added itself
And remained always alone"

Vasko Popa

Most fairy tales begin in a similar way.

A fairy-tale needs a hero in order to be a fairy-tale.

The hero feels lonely to start with,

so he goes on a quest to find that special someone.

A best friend, a bewitched swan-girl, or any other type of soulmate.

He has adventures and commits acts of heroism. 

At the end, the hero is never lonely.

But this number was different.

There was nowhere to search except inside, so

it began to reckon with itself.

This was a mistake, since

this number was one of a kind.

It was destined for loneliness.

It was pure and round and perfect,

self-sufficient and shiny,

just like the Sun.

Yet, the number was a true hero.

It wanted to rescue swan-girls and slay dragons.

It wanted a soul-mate and a dangerous quest.

It wasn’t afraid to look deep inside, so 

It divided multiplied itself

The result was always the same.

Yet, the number never gave up.

Maybe it just needed more practice?

What if it hurt a little?

What’s a hero without a few wounds?

But the wounds always healed and the number

remained perfect, round and lonely

indivisible and unmultipliable. 

It found friends, but they all disappeared.

Other numbers said it was cursed and ran away

every time it showed up, so

the number had only itself to reckon with.

It subtracted, added itself.

This time other numbers accepted its company,

but they hardly noticed it was around.

This number was pure and round like the Sun.

It was nice to look at, but what use

could it be to anyone?

So the number shut itself inside a cave.

The cave was dark and quiet.

No one but the number itself to reckon with.

You know someone is a hero when they refuse to give up.

A hero could also be a hermit.

A hero could look inside, even though the emptiness was scary.

So the number continued to reckon with itself in perfect darkness

and remained always alone.

GloPoWriMo Day 3 - a glosa

This glosa is based on Vasko Popa's poem A Forgetful Number

For those interested, here is the Serbian original of the poem.