It felt like floating on the river with a wrinkly skin,
Akin to the corpse burying its sins deep within,
Life was like a gazebo in a dilapidated garden,
There will be reconstruction, if she let go off the burden.

It felt like being struck right deep into the soul
Suffocated and heated with a burning coal
Life has been like living in hell
Thinking she was already in heaven but she fell.

It felt tattered and drained out, limping every step towards life,
Appearing red stains and wounds by a knife,
Collecting the pieces haplessly, relieving the pain,
She wanted to feel the sunshine and kiss the rain.*

It felt like drowing in a vast ocean of depression
Heart suffering from lingering oppression
But her smile never fades away
Getting stronger day by day.

She is the lady on the road.

She is a mother, a sister, a colleague, a bird, a lassie, a damsel.
She is the lady on the road.

She spreads love and enriches kindness in the society,
She is the crux of an organization, and the fundamental principles.
She is the lady on the road.

She twinkles with the stars and shimmers with the moon,
She scampers with her pets and hops like a frog,
She is not a nomad, but a faithful keeper.
She is the lady on the road.

She wears short skirts,
She wears tight tops,
She doesn't encourage the flirts,
She neither abominates the leering of cops.
She is the lady on the road.

She holds a honourable reputation,
She forms the base of ethical standards,
She buries the grudges and resolves the dissension,
She consolidates herself and maintains her fettle,
She is the epitome of cheerful disposition.
She is the lady on the road.

She ignores the catcalls,
She endures the torture and prevails her morale,
She is a monument unshakable, and a stone unbreakable,
She dumps her burdens and enlightens her destiny,
She protects her dignity and negotiates with denunciation,
She does no harm, but deals with it.
She is the lady on the road, ..the seventh wonder of the world.

The velvet cover aroused a cringe inside,
With the touch to the diary with his wrinkled hand,
And the stolid shiver began to subside,
Pouring grin over his face, as the pages were scanned.

He stared at the words, turning the pages leisurely,
Every line he read, triggered  mild sentiments,
Not very severe but gentle and silly,
Soothing and abating the repressed resentments.

The diary delineated the stories behind each verse,
With hues of despair and projections of curse,
Depicting doleful goodbyes and cheerful handshakes,
All of them crushing and sinking into the filthy lakes.

Hopping from one stanza to another,
He slowed down his pace as he moved further,
Like the dormancy of his brain and the moments gray,
The lines reminded him of his birthday.

"I'm a poem, you'd liked to take a glance at,
I'm candle you will blow, I'm the feather on your hat,
I'm the words in your veins, I'm the verses you make,
I'm the lyrics on your lips,  I'm the name on your birthday cake."

The lucent halo covered her wedding gown,
Exchanging glances they took the bridal vows,
Beside the tablescape he wore her the crown,
With a sparkling mirth, she canoodled her spouse.

The chirpy memories are still alive,
Emerging out of the star-crossed soul,
The mortal malady shall perish, and bliss will thrive,  
Tribulations shall cease, with attempts to console.

The spotlight flashed his eyes,
Teardrops gently rolled over his cheeks with a surprise,
Resting his mind awhile, he gazed at the skies,
The wholehearted love seemed to be a sublime paradise.

Not a glimpse of light ,
Not a part of a day,
Not a smile at night,
Muzzling the grunt, he veiled his dismay.

Hear the howl of a wolf,
Hear the hoot of an owl,
Hear the weep of a man,
Anguish and pain , they all swallow away.

With the course of darkness,
With the fiends inside,
With the hateful sights,
And a firm handshake with the plight , they hit the hay.

Can't a dingy room transform to a beacon of light?
Can't the cold happiness find me on its way?
Can't this seclusion help me breathe one more day?
And the concealed shadow, can i embrace you again?