That grows in murky waters. Blue lotus without roots, but not uprooted, wandering. I am that but I am this too. And yet I am not always blue. I must just be bogus.
What's a remedy for anger Anger that leaves you numb Twists Like a knife deeply wedged In your gut. Anger that leaves you impotent Anger that torments you With lust for blood With red dreams of Slit throats spurting. Anger at lives Futile For it ends At the hands of your helplessness. Anger for the those Who don't care enough Who sleepwalk through existence.
This knife I twist further To quench my blood thirst.
This city
That smells
Of temple smoke
Autorickshaw exhaust
And the dampness of rain. This city Trains screaming afar Through the mumbles Of incessant raindrops Singing a comforting lullaby.
This city
Overcast
That tell stories. Clouds, a messenger
From yesterday For today.
This city
Green with envy
Yet content with self In it's cold monsoon morning
Tazes away remains of sleep From my dreary eyes.
This city
Forces out
The love in me
Tosses it around
And envelopes me
Back in it.
Loves Music. Loves dance. Loves the moon. Loves the Spirit. Loves love and food and roundness. Loves struggle. Loves the Folk. Loves herself. Regardless.-Alice Walker