And then December passed by,
Down came January for 31 days, but
Still I bloomed on a February day,
Cleaving down that womb sharp.
Pain accompanied her, not mere,
Death, Nirvana, Reform and Birth,
Red as plum, maybe cherry Red.
Blue like the solemn night, face, speech, tone.
The thirst for me. Old and New.
Dreams, Hope, Like blood
Rushing through her veins, Someday,
Somebody, Each day, Every waking.
The truth in my eyes, innocence.
Flew with time, aristocracy, of birth,
Went down humanity with time sands.
Nobility submerged into authenticity.
But then again December passed by,
January came for 31 days, and
Yet I bloomed on a February day,
Smitten by her. She. Amma.
-Roshni R. Nair