There was a face once
Eyes down...always veiled
Had stones on the shiny forehead
Like three signs of divine grace...
And from under embroidered lace
A few disobedient streaks of hair would flow out
In the wind they would sing songs
In the breeze they would like dreams sprout...
And sometimes like tiny bells would chime
The long earrings for me soft genteel lines...
Full of music ambrosia induced
She was my first perceived muse...
Then at the sunset orangy scape
With more words I would be certainly draped...
Words hanging like loose scent of flower
Words would fall on me like unprecedented shower
But she remained always silent calm
Yet she dropped lines of creative balm...
Much like nature perhaps so encompassing and holistic
She would just come there to stand
Infront of desperate me...
And by her nods..her unuttered words
I would jot down on pages white
Notes musical...so enchanting...
Notes of birds spread as benign light...
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