How is it that my body and mind revolt?
Is it really my well-natured fault?
Light as a feather,
mighty as the sky;
what do these sides signify?
My pride, my rebellion, my humility,
all lie subject to this little body,
yet, the mind is fatal in its bombings,
flips but slips on its wet floor.
I muse on my savagery;
plead to forget that imagery
which portrays an ulterior me,
which dances to the rhythms
of rage and dismantled glee.
Timid me trembles to the convention,
passion drives me to encroach that notion;
I shall live by it,
if that's all it takes,
for I am not one,
but inherently united icy-fire flakes.
This piece has been authored by Swetarupa Mishra. Currently pursuing Political Science and English from Indraprastha College for Women, University of Delhi, she is a peace enthusiast, iconoclast, mental health zealot, and staunch believer of justice. Her raison d'etre stands to be unraveling mysteries of the universe, unification, and pacification.