She

How easily her heart was tormented,
through holes; as a ball of mud.
By the ones who still not learned
to let other's live in their life.
And appreciate the other's success.
She stood high;yet she is lonely.
Yearning for a true soul to stand by her.
And that true soul was she for herself.
Her life like a broken plate
was devoid of purpose
yet, she hung those
making a beautiful frame of joy.
She at the darkest corner of life,
where footprints faded
left in the depths of sea,
where the midst of air; of filled with misery
she suffocated even to breathe.
But, found her way of life,
in that misery, as a star
trying to become the galaxy.
Her tattered clothes,
symbolizing her
handwork ;because,
she knew;
she isn’t here to
chase people.
She learned to say “no”.
A great deal of satisfaction,
was born to her,
when she started to let things go.
A Box of happiness waited at her doorstep,
to make her pains turn to pride,
with a collage of torn papers;
painted with love and hope.
She knew, pleasant moments make her feel elated,
but critical moments are the real reason behind it.
Some says still the words of hope,
as though they truly care for her,
she says, “I'll win;not by your words.”
Some tremble even to
look at her face because,
she's neither a flower,
nor it's honey, but the root.
Why should she be the moonlight?
Rather she's the sun's rays.
Not a dove, but an eagle.

Her heart is nothing, but a ball of fire.
She; a worker bee at times
because being industrious
is her favorite hobby.
And she knew
only success gives her
the freedom her heart desires.
She made her heart to rose up
now she conquered,
her success spoke.
Not gave them back, the way they plagued.
Yet she smiled.