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The moon whispered, Shine beneath me,
I will guard you with my silver glow.
The sun urged, Outshine the diamonds,
Let my light seep into your soul, mesmerize you.

She is an artist—
Eyes locked on the mirror, faith woven into every step.
They call it a divine art, a gift, a fleeting dream.
Yet, she breathes it, moves like water,
tiptoeing with grace to impress the sky.

She twirls, wrapped in a gown of flowing light,
hair glistening, spirit soaring.
For in the realm of rhythm, she reaches utopia—
A world where her feet speak,
where her soul unfurls like a ribbon in the wind.

But the world tells her to study.
To follow the path paved by others' expectations.
They do not care for the utopia she once knew—
For they, too, once danced,
before being told their efforts were in vain.

The moon, once her silent guardian,
The sun, once her golden blessing,
fade into a distant once upon a time...

Yet, she remembers. She dreams.
She longs to be reborn as a peacock,
to dance again beneath an unyielding sky.

And so, she pushes harder.
Carves her own path where none existed.
Shatters limits, defies tradition—
until her story spreads like a folktale.

The protagonist of her own legend,
she etches her fate in the language of music—
pop beats, classical notes, a symphony of triumph.
She dances upon them all,
spinning through the highs, gliding through the lows.

And as the final note fades,
she stands, unbowed, unbroken.
With the pen in her hand, she smiles—
for she has written her own ending.

The dancer herself.
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