Comments about Anamika Jayakumar
Trickles over my feet, looked down,
Those were my tears, not the rain.
Psyche that wandered in vibrant reverie
Now baffles with the conflicts of a dying [soul] core.
Once a mirror, now those eyes,
Buddies dub it an opaque lens.
Behind the cheerful smirk,
They perceive the painful prick.