kohl-darkened, expressive eyes & careful, meaningful hastas,
alta-decorated feet precise & unfaltering in their rhythmic cadence,
epics of gods & goddesses & mortals unfolding before captivated audiences,
but i, unaware, wandering, oblivious, am not a bharatanatyam dancer.

mellifluous, honeyed voices & fingers fluttering in time
with the lively, warm veena & the rich, resonant mridangam,
tales of devotion & love & divinity entrancing millions,
but i, stammering, stuttering, stumbling, am not a carnatic vocalist.

balanced, steady stances & graceful, fluid kihon,
performing katas with assured elegance & deftly whirling through kumite,
in every movement, every half-step, striking & powerful & flowing,
but i, wayward, lackadaisical, capricious, am not a karateka

i am meandering thoughts & dreamy reflections & aimless contemplation,
i am impetuous excitement & forgotten plans & starry-eyed reveries
i am ink-stained fingers & haphazard perfectionism & idealistic expectations
i, fanciful, wondering, rambling, am a poet