Jaded

Her eyes resembled a panda.  They were sunken deep into her flesh.  The lids were weary, leaving a small gap in between.  The caffeine from the coffee left her awake.  She closed her eyes to compose her restless body, laying down on a bed of roses.

Roses.  They were full of thorns.

Her wandering souls were unrest.  She tossed and turned.   There were no comfort zones.  Rest, oh my weary souls.  Rest.

Her Instinct, A Fatal Aspiration

Fired up with passion, each word that pursed through her lips amazed her.  They listened cautiously, marking  the details.  Though vague, the details were valuable and served at its maximum.

Each generous ears opened up hope, leading ways for repentance and amendments.  She juggled her dying prospect as it lifted off the ground.  Their credibility challenged her once again.

The thoughts cheered her.  Their anxiety was presumably resolved - none of her concern.  She acclaimed their efforts, but such witness was short-lived.   

Her heart was confused - some made her laugh, yet bore loud evidence of their nonchalant efforts.  Words were shrugged off at their shoulders, as if who cares.  Each lines rocked her patience.  She was threatened to respond brutally.  Her imaginative hands were fast equipped with a rattan.  She could slash at any moment. 

How should i do?  Abuse with these autocratic hands of mine?  She surmounted her anger with questions and subdued to disappointment.  All wicked intentions did not brief the definition of her career.   Her labour  was built upon an aristocratic aspiration, of hope and of love.  Don't make a monster out from me.

I don't hunt; i nurture.

Mirror On The Wall

Her eyes feasted on the familiar reflection through the looking glass.  Her hands slowly caressing the figure that seemed to carefully copy her.  The puzzled look upon her eyes bewildered her.  She gently touched her lips as if suckling the life out from them.  Each move was transcribed carefully only in silence.   

Ah... each word read her lips.  She was disturbed.   

Mirror on the wall, 

Here we are again.  

Through my rise and fall, 

You've been my only friend.  

You told me that they can,

Understand the man that I am.  

So, why are we here, 

Talking to each other again?

Her body shivered as the words ran through her veins.  Why are we here, talking to each other again? 

So, why are we... beads of unsung melody dripped down from her eyes.     

Perhaps, Maybe

Perhaps, there was an immaculate world of such, where sins would not find its way, an enigma.

The way of the above marveled her.  The mighty hands that threaded the way of this world, to where she was sent with a purpose, an unknown purpose.  

With her feet above the world, hers jingled for adventures and all the more.  Like a naughty little elf, escaping from life of the pole to a life she was never meant to live - a life where cupids blessed, a life where angels sang, and a life where the church bells rang.  There were more than cupids, of angels, and of church bells that she could have known.  

For her, she was made only witness of the surpassing moments.  There were plenty of people like herself in this world where she had yet learn to accept.  Some still in search of the mystery.  Some like her, wherever it leads, she shall go. 

Wake Me Up

The long winding road, she sighed, and the headlights from cars afar, were peculiarly ushering her rides.  But unlike any city of lights, her feelings were expressed as if the roads led her to dooms-day.  Dooms-day!  She dreaded it all the more.

She watched the night sky, and the stars lining in their ways.

Magic carpet ride, take me away.  She fervently prayed.  

When you wished upon a star, your dreams come true.   

Kicked Around

Out in the open field, she watched the boys play.  A game she could not, and probably would not connect to.  Yet she stood there, and made no words.  Not even a word.  As if by a twist of fate the boys were visited by a world of unknown.  Her presence was a confusion.  

For her, there was a certain inexplicable sense of accountability, of duty and of love.  She hoped they know.  Duty and love in its indivisible definition was not easily perceived, even for herself.

With another losing game, she could not counter how they would confide in her.  She watched as the ball toss.      

Damsel in Distress

Works tired her.  The routine bored her.  All work and no play indeed makes Jack a dull boy.  One glimpse at everyone else's life made her envious.  If stories were made of The Princess and the Frog, she would be that toad, waiting, and still waiting by the well.  For him, to whom was a prince, would be running after his princess on a horse.  And the toad, it was forsaken.  

Perhaps, the flowers had bloomed, but the petals had withered.  She sighed.    

Walk me through the woods, 

let the wolves prey,

where the feet brings me,

running to the unknown.