Always,
Inevitably,
One day,
People call time on me.
Teachers,
Therapists,
Even family,
These should be,
daggers,
lacerating my innards.
Yet,
bleed I don’t!
For, you, my love,
are my balm;
The persistent orchestra,
on my
pernicious voyage,
Soothing me,
While staring down
Iceberg-ian obstacles.
Why would I drown,
when I am blessed
with the sacred music,
of your love!
Anantha is a teen from Calgary, Canada. Anantha does most of his communication via typing or a letterboard. Creative writing gives Anantha great pride and solace; it is also how he shares his autistic experiences with the world. If you like his writing, you can click here to leave Anantha a tip.
Latest posts by Anantha Krishnamurthy (see all)
- Poetry: The Road. - October 19, 2022
- The Big Gag: Autism science and autistic heresy - April 18, 2022
- Ode to my autistic ancestors - December 14, 2021
3 Responses
The imagery you weave with words is profound turning potential daggers into a soothing orchestration. Your poetic expression transforms adversity into a voyage guided by the sacred music of love.
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