I burn pages,
And I burn my dreams.
The fire feels warmer,
Knowing they’re mine.

As ashes,
They look dull,
Hopeless and weak.
But only those who look close
Will find the shimmer of the stardust,
Full of ecstasy and valour.

Divine hips
Which sway with elegance;
Soft lips
Which utter the sweetest words.

These gifts allure
Others more than myself.
For my womanhood
Gave me the greatest of gifts.

My mind—a burning star.
Shines bright on its own.
My soul—oh so unique,
Is complete by itself.

My womanhood
Gave me the greatest gifts,
I say again.
It gave me the strength
To rise by myself.

If your thought was a sin,
Even hell is heaven to me.

Your pretty pretty eyes,
Don’t look at me with them.
Your pretty pretty smile,
Goshhh stop it!!
The pretty pretty hair,
And the pretty pretty you,
But all I end up saying is oh cool.

Wreathe of lies
Adorn my body with your flowers,
Your flowers of lies—warm and afresh.

Pin them hard,
Till my skin becomes rosy,
And cheeks a little lake,
For the flowers must not dry.

Pin them with needles,
Close to my chest,
Where my treasure lives—
Alone and alive.

What have I become,
But a wreath of your lies.
The flowers withered
And the sweetness lost forever.

Unpin the needles,
Tear the flowers,
I’d still be bleeding,
For I held onto your thorns,
Knowing you’re a rose.

Inside my body,
And inside my mind,
There’s a little child,
A child with colours—bittersweet.

I know not if she’s sad or happy,
But I do know she loves to paint,
My body in a colourful tent,
So I let her be.

Now that my body has grown,
The tent doesn’t fit.
But I do not complain,
For I do not wish to see her eyes watery lit.

Every night I lose my sleep,
In wondering,
If she could have a world’s peep.
But alas! My darling,

Will never receive love akin to mine in the world.
Even if the tent becomes cold,
I must stay.
I don’t think I should ever let her go,
Despite my body’s dents.

Being smothered in a colourful tent,
Is better than seeing my darling woe.