I, a poem on self.

Ananya.

Loved by numerous.
Perhaps not liked by a few.
They choose me over others,
Maybe ‘cause I never forget to step in their shoes.

A self lover.
For, I admire the kind I am.
A raging river,
Questing after a dam.

Craving calmness,
Yet, defying loneliness.
A lioness,
Fearing wilderness.

Too uncertain,
Yet, too proud.
Full of pain, not at all sane
Yet, I love to face the crowd.

So obstinate,
When it comes to my credence’s.
‘Cause I find dignity in this trait
Can’t confine myself within your fences.

A criticism believer,
But with no tinge of despair
A pain preventer,
For which I coat my words with sugar.

Hate to hurt.
Restrain insensitivity.
Careful about other hearts.
Prudently witty.

Fear Future.
Dwelling in the present moment.
My past; a teacher
With lessons so permanent.

Hopelessly insecure.
Too demanding to deal with.
With a heart quite pure
Love, to me, is the only wealth.

I demand morals.
Riches; absent
Longing for the noble.
Just loyalty, romance and attachment.

Words being my escape.
I cry and laugh via phrases.
Writers to me are superheroes’ without cape,
‘Cause they know how to deal with bruises.

I write to feel.
I feel so I write.
We all need to heal.
I know we all need to fight.

Loved by numerous.
Perhaps not liked by a few.
They choose me over others,
Maybe ‘cause I never forget to step in their shoes.

-Ananya, the verbal seduction.