Baby, I am thirty.
Baby, I am thirty.
I am thirty, a legitimate adult with an ID
and a pack of Marlboro and a bottle of JD
Hidden under my basket of dirty laundry.
Why? Cause my indian parents are
Aristocratic born nair.
Baby,
I was about to run away
First at ten, then thirteen,
Then fifteen, then eighteen
And now I am thirty and I sway,
Unsure of how far is away.
(Full poem in caption)
-