May she mark her moments of miracles. For it won't be but momentarily she'll soon forget such wonderous moments and she'll be buried in her daily duties, dilly dallying dutifully till the deathbed does she dwell on such matters again to sit in such shame sorrowfully understanding the passing of her muliebrity.
How’s this happening of me holding a pen again? Trapped in the wit and bound by each vein. My vision is blurred but my mind is clear; I’ll take a paper but there’s something I fear. Combination of thoughts made up inside my head; The part of life simultaneously alive and dead. The stars and the moon just one glance away; Nobody knows how much these eyes weigh! The eyelids are lift up to feel alive; Emotions hit and put out the main five. The dark isn’t enough to devastate; Oh it's already midnight and the following date! I can hear my name called out by the adjacent river; Winds and waves leaving me to shiver. This world is numb and cold; My soul is drifting apart and it needs to be hold. Look I am still breathing; But my hands are freezing. Yet I complete the poem and put a full stop of done; Miracles do happen, I’ve recently experienced one. Now I keep my pen & paper aside; This happens all the time and I’m always abide. Twenty-four hours of exertion and sound; It requires some peace to be found. This is an unending chain; How’s this happening of me holding a pen again? -Aishwarya Kulkarni