Who are you?
You ask me.
Well, if I have known the answer,
Would I be the same.
But at least I dint reply labeling myself
with my name or the job I do or the gender I am.
Anyways, listen up.
For you expect my skin to reflect milk,
I have complexion of the desert sand,
which appears to be empty,
but have stories written deep inside.
And my eyes are not those soft rose petals,
Insted they are mirrors that reflect fire.
I wear glasses just to protect you
from the fire in my eyes that may burn you up, everytime you try to objectify me.
With the gloss and the color of red flowers, my lips dont shine.
But they smile like a blessing.
No, they are not trying to grab your attention when they are loud.
They just move to the tunes of the voice that comes from a thunder which cannot tolerate wrong.
My hands are not soft and my nails are not polished and painted.
They are rough and have scars on them,
for the verses that have been written.
But still manage to hold oceans in the palms when brought together without letting a drop to go away.
And they lock together so tight to pray, hoping for this world to be a better place.
For the long and thin legs you want me to have.
I have knees that have wounds,
because they like to run.
Run like there is no end
And they know, that the road is hard,
but even when they are tearing into pieces, they dont give up.
And for my mind I am sorry that it doesnot fit in you little box of logic.
It dreams like the sky is its starting point.
It is the most stupid and silly some times,
But some times, it takes a life time for you to understand what it thinks.
It grows not with age, but with failures.
It is the most peaceful place and the most fierce.
For all these things if you label me as rebel ,
you should know that there is a heart that pumps love,
and tells me, that I forgive, more than I breath.
And its not afraid to love again, again and again, no matter how many times its broken.
And it has tiny little wings that never gets tired.
they keep flying from heart to heart leaving some love in each one of them.
but a version of me suddenly comes out asking me are you really this?
what if you are not any of these, what if you are some thing else,
whom you have never attempted to meet who is right inside you?
while my own versions still kept fighting inside me,
I stood there unanswered to your question of “who are you?”
But you ask me again.
who are you?
I laughed out loud and winked
ask it to yourself, I said
if you have an answer help me find mine.
Portraying thoughts is a hobby, Rendering them in words is art,
But The principle of true art is not to portray,but to evoke
I am in my way of indulging myself into this and of course love to
promulgate them.A girl in search of real satisfaction.