I come from a line of Dravidians and Aryans
Across the universe low-key like martians
from a place once called the garden city
Where grass was brown and girls were pretty
A place far gone
neon lights on
We grew up with one another
but We got too big for each other
Who am I
So I ran away guns blazing
hunting down something amazing
but town after town
It was never found
Who am I
I come from books and stories
nooks and crannies
Cooks and lorrys
and looks from granny
Never knowing or understanding,
that my demands were too demanding
and never fully comprehending
That my beginnings had their endings
Who am I
I’m that walking talking contradiction
A make believe person reading non-fiction
a lazy imagination running wild
an immature old soul, a man-child
A poor student, a quick study, a true learner
Never prudent and an avid burner
of trees and bridges
Who am I
I’m wet cement
work in progress
dodger’s lament
but I digress
I’m the one who still dreams of glory
The only one who can write my story
and from the time that I was christened
When one voice spoke, I always listened
Always trusted my own gut
Even when I was stuck in a rut
and through the pouring rain
Even though I got drenched again
and again
Soaked head to toe and laughed at by fellas
I laughed back at their umbrellas
see, myself, I never hide,
you can call it foolish pride
but I wait for that feeling
inside
because like I’ve felt joy and pain
I want to feel the sun and rain
Who I am
I’m still finding out
Free Association 