Mentally audible gasps and misty flannels
But she’s busy, dusting filthy wooden panels

Focus, is her every second sacred chant,
Her clad body sticking with sweat,
Yet there she is carrying out a bant,
Trying to sound cheery and buoyant

Music that is setting off sensations
Whereas, her ears are only brimming with static  
She glances at the leaves falling on the road
She couldn’t blame herself for being
aesthetic.