[The words are not mine, 'She' is the source]
she owns the technical heart, yet again
old dust in her pores,
unhopeful for a rain!
The only photographer she knew
is long, long gone
clumsy, or broken, she lives alone!
She looks back at the Ark of shadows
to see if something follow (s)
Her cooked wild imaginations,
as usually, hollow!
Does she know, she's the flaw & the flawless
does she know, things never fully restore
It's always clumsy
It's always broken!
Such serene idiocy always persists
equally, as sun and cold together exist!
Is it really,
that silken wounds never know when to heal?
or she refuses to know, when to resist and when to feel?!
She bears the wrath of calm
forgets the warmth of her own palm!
She says she's all she needs
what multiplies? she plants empty seeds!
The accustomed would change
eccentricities would dry
Rewards have a motive
regardless she should try!
I won't dare to say, I'd known all her disturbance
though I can commit my soul to her crimson cheeks
her quiet innocence!
Afterall, she's mature to know she's childish
Afterall, she should know,
anything like love takes long as life!
that a glance may not be enough
that just a chance may not be enough!
that something like love takes long for life!