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a rain is falling,
on the crack’d earth

a rain is teasing,
on the dancing us

how do we return this present,  
this overwhelming love,
endless kisses you shower,
in your every drop

a rain is calling,
on a thunder drum

a rain is singing,
come, ye all come

look the well is swell,
bare earth rustle green again,
how an elusive peacock cries
out the rain's endless names,

a rain is bending,
the mighty banyan tree

a rain is chasing,
cobra, ants and bees

how the sea rages in anarchy,
its heart is majestic today

cling of old things vanish,
in a flowing disarray

a rain is falling,
on the cracked earth

a rain is teasing,
on the dancing us
I think the problem is
that you need a girl
who doesn't think
about what goldfish
dream about
or about worms
that get washed up
on rainy days.

A girl who doesn't think
about
raindrop races
on windowpanes.
A girl who doesn't
point out clouds
that puff out like the
dragons
she reads about.

A girl who likes
politics
and not fantasy.
A girl who cries when
the endings are sad.
Not happy.

A girl who lives
for the sake of
love
and not
herself.

A girl who is
definitely
not
me.

I think
the problem is
I'm happy
it's not.
I struggle with my self-esteem so sometimes I try to write about the things I like about myself. Hopefully it will make you think about what you like about yourself too.
 Jun 2016 Ananthu M Nair
Viseract
My thoughts need a voice
I just gotta make a choice
What should be said
And what should I keep in my head?

Pain is an experience I understand all too well
From the sting of winter to the inferno of Hell
The screams of torture you would never have heard
Because they stayed inside my head and stopped being words

They were in my throat but never left my mouth
Instead they turned tail and headed down south
They went into my heart, into my very soul
Took all the warmth from my body and turned it cold

Well-disposed warmth to others, unavailable to myself
That's when I started pretending to be someone else
So I convinced myself that love was all around
But in reality I had none for me and when I came to...

I hit the ground

Face first
In the dirt
Full of hurt

And I finally cried out
very true. everything is bottled up, poetry releases it but causes me to reminisce it too much. I am too in love with poetry to slow down though, let alone give up...
On a mythical Mumbai weekend,
of no serene start or dubious end,
with imaginary beauties, invisible friends,

I stepped out of a puffing train,
my long unkempt hair a lion's mane,
getting used to my twitching tail,

Posing on the Gateway of India,
the extraordinary explorer pose,
took a boat to Elephanta (sans the hose),

and when my shivering co-passengers
had finished feverishly taking pictures
and started screaming holy mothers and sisters,

I took off from the starboard end,
and became the first man-lion to
cross the polluted Indian channel,

surviving to make the news channels,
my scientific name listed as a brand new mammal,
my mating call recognized as a gushing gargle,

On a mythical Mumbai weekend,
of no serene start or dubious end,
with imaginary beauties, invisible friends,

I devoured deep-kissing lovers for lunch
at Bandstand's low-tide on a hunch,
to the delicious sound of munch! munch!

even as Shah Rukh Khan watched disgusted
from his big big bungalow by the sea,
and as the city sharpshooters came after me,    

and later when they brought me down,
from Nariman Point building, like KING KONG,
I tuned a dusty guitar and sang a melancholy song,

on the death of adventure, love and reality,
dangers of delusions, lethargy and self-pity,
repression, horniness and too much TV,

down in a shower of bullets when I went,
sky like the coming of rain, godspeed, godsend,
in a mythical city, where nothing is really meant,

On a mythical Mumbai weekend,
of no serene start or dubious end,
with imaginary beauties, invisible friends...
Mumbai - A crowded, stuffy, over-populated Indian city.

Gateway of India - A 1924 monument by the British to commemorate built to commemorate King George V and Queen Mary's 1911 visit to Mumbai.
Hurtling to make money
Brawling for the seats
Competing for the fame
Shrieking out loud for religious violence
Selfish and greedy humans
Killing brotherhood using
Vengeance and acrimony
Sharper than the weapons
Earth floating like a paper boat
In the pool of human blood
What do they take with them
To the graveyard ?
Bonehead people not knowing
Nothing but a dead body are they
Leaving alone with no money,
No fame, no seats, no religion
Not even their own body !
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