Scoopful

Words..Poems..Painting..Songs.. Pictures

From the projected metaphors of my existence

I gather a scoopful of my identities.

I watch as they melt in the sultry monsoon heat

Uncertain about the form

They mingle

First the colours run ..then the form

I feel, the joy the hurt the sadness the exhilaration the anger

Of each of them.

I struggle to find words

corresponding to this experience

of witnessing .

I am my own worst imitator.

In the end

I think

I will just be the scoop.