Jyothy Sreedhar

I am what I'm

I don’t write when I am happy.

I tend to laugh it out,

And imbibe the tears that roll

down the cheeks, down my heart.

One drop will hang as a dew

sticking to the chin, never drying out.

It doesn’t mean that I am sad

and full of dark worries at core.

Just one tear will make me cry

as one breath will make me laugh.

It’s all about my celebrations,

my life being a tale continuous.

I celebrate my laughs, my cries equal

and the tensile dilemmas spread across.

They are my own, part of my story

which give twists as never expected.

My birth was a twist, hope my death is one.

My life has a script different

with scenes of highest improbabilities

and dialogues the truest, yet unbelievable.

I get an identity, most scrambled

mixed as if in a mine of gold.

My body is with marks of history, clear

my leg with screw, my chin with stitch

my arm scratched with a brave jump

my finger with ‘fan’atic cuts,

my teeth with deviations of destiny

but my lips have the curves permanent

undefeatable, untouchable.

I fascinate myself with the unexpecteds

though fastidious in nature and lineage.

I linger in a world of my own,

writing my tears, oozing my joys,

searching for self in deepest voids,

seemingly arrogant, secretly loving

holding a romantic pure and hidden.

I smile madly, never so eccentric,

finding out the roses in my heart.

My words reveal to me a world inside

perfectly narrating my unknown emotions.

The feelings of fire well expressed

signed by a romantic, the part unrevealed.

I started to love, beyond my doors,

writing no names, but poems in lieu.

This is how I love my life,

this is how I tame my tears,

this is how I war my death,

this is I am what I’m…