By Sri Ramya Smruthi
I am not who I was
I have a body, legs, a voice
They look at me funny when I dance
Rain visits often
Sun makes me gleam
They are different now
Trees are different here,
They are green and brownSometimes yellow
Sometimes red.
Weren’t they silver before?
I cannot recall.
Sounds are different here
Loud, but compressed
Some are good
Some are troubling
I am not who I was
Neither is Mother
She is beautiful,
With her trees, with her birds
I think I like to be with her
I think I like to stay on the ground
I am not who I was
I can dance, and sing
And maybe, just maybe,
I like it that way
By Sri Ramya Smruthi
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