Sorcery in her veins she drifts into the luminescence of fairy lights,
Her heart does not beat to the rhythm of her footsteps,
But she does not care,
No one's around.
She flings her flip flops and begins to sway,
She trips a little on the idea of 'herself'
but remembers she is dancing with no one around -
No one that cares.
Her hair gets fiery maroon as the fairy lights disperse through those messy locks.
She clambers on the insides of robust memories,
That shoot and decline
with frequencies of music; the frequencies within.
She is her own creation - no one to stop, no one to judge,
No one to spill the beans, no one to capture attention.
Her shadows now form unimaginable silhouettes on the walls,
Silhouettes of all the girls she is; all the women she can be.
With a shimmer of fairy lights her dreamy figures glimmer in the wake of her eyes,
She needs no one!
She has herself and them,
And the fairy lights and a heart that does not beat to the rhythm of her footsteps..
Believe me, there is no place better to be -
For a darkened heart, silence gleams.

Wisps of sound rise and melt in the air,
The high and low stresses, the articulatory stretches;
Linger, vanish, manifest, proliferate – digest.

A humming note strokes the whims of a heart,
Through tapestries of tingling blade of tongue,
It slides into existence and existence it wears till it obliterates.

Wisps of sound rise and melt in the air,
Like Chinese ring daggers they curl into
the abode of your consciousness again.

A mellifluous phrase carries the calm of Ravi
as it glides through the hollows of ears,
Now in your memory, now forgotten,
Now revived, now devised,
Now it journeys towards the ripples of your utterance,
And now it fiddles with your own conscience.

A wisp of sound falls over the skyline of a tongue
It transforms into a soulful voice,
And arbitrarily makes sense!