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Once there was a girl
Who was as beautiful as a shining pearl.

She was her father’s princess,
And for her mother, an ocean of happiness.

Her angelic smile was contagious.
Amidst her laughter and giggles, she was a genius.

She would paint and play all day—
“A chirpy little girl,” they would say.

One day, suddenly, her life changed;
A storm came by, unexplained.

She stood there strong at the age of seven,
When people her age live in heaven.

The storm went by after a year,
and left her shattered in tears.

Her mind was flooded with memories that were bad;
She ceased to smile, as she was sad.

The misery did not end there—
Another storm could be sensed in the air.

She endured that too, silently;
Her mind was left with another bad memory.

The storms ceased to leave her,
And the memories became even more bitter.

But she managed it all so well—
No one knew she was living in hell.

But one day, she could take it no longer.
She decided to give up, not knowing she was stronger.

She now turned to medication and pills,
because she could no longer deal with the ills.

Suddenly, on her darkest night,
She found her brightest light.

What brought in the brightest light?
The realisation that she could fight.
Hatred with violence
And the fear within.
Freedom from distress,
Tranquility lingering.

Only fairness,
A state of harmony.
Presence of justice -
A true symphony.

Peace is not a treaty.
It's the truth.
Mirror, mirror
seen my eyes
see my heart!
Chart in rhymes
isn't all a poem is about.
Embrace words of art
mirrors of hearts!
A paintbrush on fire
it isn't yet done.

Paints in broad daylights
in cool cloudy darks
often relaxes down the line
when the rain pours down
and the flute is on play
it isn't yet done.

The sea at the clement eve
strives to splash over
this rainbow-kissed brush
the moon will thaw the billow
with moonlight
before the waking
sleeping beauty's eyes
and the night will pour over it,
it's full bowl eternally pitch black
only to see lighting up
zillions of stars
on the paintbrush
it isn't yet done!

Apparently that looks only kohl
the night eyes in within a colour
eternally weighed down
out of sight mass hues
looking to visualise a scoop
paints yet one more first light.
Full of colours the paintbrush
it isn’t yet done!
To live, one must die,
love takes a giving heart
a never fading Taj Mahal
an art of a beautiful mind!
If only it were
like a strand of your hair,
like a glimpse of you
in your mirror!

Just like a one perfect sway
into the all-encompassing curve
of the ever-smooth, perfect circle
captures the ultimate decimal of pi!
I looked straight
into the mirror.
Do I have nothing to hide,
or is there something hidden now?
I can't see my open mind.
The moon hums in a new style
Ah, pretty little beauty spot, opens a slice of sky
On the door of tomorrow in the serene shadow of night
Keeping the ears down, alleyways of stars lie down.
The sea too rolls out high waves of rhymes
Only then will the veiled mystic night  
Opens once a kohl-dark, enigmatic eye
On the door of tomorrow deep down the night.
Wise one mentioned me a door. The least I could do picked up my pen.
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