What Ails Me?


Webs of discontent, laced
Around bloodstreams and skin

This discomfort is synonymous
With unmet demands of the world.
Yet I’m glad, while knowing
That I’m up to no good, these days
Like a cat, who is proud for no reason.

I rely on words to cure me.
Curves of letters appear therapeutic.
So pathetic has been my recovery,
That I have relapses more often
Than I find time to write!

And it’s all      still        in my head.

I pick up my pen then,
Thankful for the little things,
Yearning to get out of the rut
Of writing for my being
To writing with my being.

Poetry has never smelled better.

By Athira Unni

ATHIRA UNNI writes, among other things, such as pursuing the perfect amount of sugar to put in her tea. . Her poetry has been published by NAME, Generation Magazine, Brev Spread, Madras Courier, The Sunflower Collective, The Little Rose Magazine, Sheila-Na-Gig Under 30 and Delhi Poetry Slam.

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