I am

I am fresh dew drops over cold windshields on sullen wintry daybreaks

I am Sunday morning coffee served in bed with extra cream,

I am Midsummer Night’s Dream, a couch and a blanket on wild stormy days

I am not a three-course meal in a fancy restaurant,But

I am homemade candlelight dinner at midnight after a long work day.

I am a month long poetic spell, with the right amount of emotion elixirs and word potions.
I am comfort. I am calm. I am cold. I am warmth.
I am the light that emerges from within your eyes when the bulbs go out,

I am the hue of petrichor rising from a parched earth,  

when monsoon lets down it’s gaurd.

I am the sound of a flute when hard rock starts hurting your ears.

I am a muslin cloth against a coarsed skin

I am an ocean,

reflecting and refracting light,

translucent in the day and coloured at night,

perpetually moving

and yet, unmoved.
I am acceptance. I am glow. I am spirit. I am strength.
I am the colour brown,

and not the latte or the cocoa brown that is devoured by men,

I am the colour of earth,

I am silt, that brings life to reapers.

I am dust, that rises for droplets to coalesce around and fall as rain.

I am clay, that takes shape on a potter’s wheel to tend to dearth,

I am sand, that adorns a soldier’s forehead before entering a battlefield.

I am the Sita who never waited for Ram to come,

And yet,

I am also Sati, and parts of me have been burned for far too long,

Charred by the soot,

Mucked by the ash,

I am black now.
I am hurt.

I am scarred,

Still,

I survive.

Because I know

I am my pair of ghungroo, striking the hard floor at all the correct beats and

I am my feet that balances me perfectly on hundreds of one-foot turns.

I am my diary, dissolving in the numbness of my being and

embracing the ink flowing out of my pen.

I am my pain,

That eventually leaves.

I am my breathe

That stays.
I am alive.

And,

I am willing to show you why.

I am regret.

I am power.

I am hope.

I am myself, in all the conjectures and bones.

And I am an endless expanse of I am’s:

I am Countless and indecipherable,

Like the number line stretching from minus infinity to infinity.

And only fools think that

I am measurable.

I am the soul:

Eternal and absolute.
But for now,

I will tell you this

that,

I choose to be confined

by my mother’s dal,

by my father’s scolds,

by rare hugs.

I choose to be finite

in the fleeting moments

when someone spends them on me.

I choose to be bounded,

by love.