In anarchic beauty lies a mutilated work of art.
Beguiling but torn, wreaking havoc on ailing heart.
Camouflaged by inhibitions, dazzled by it all.
Her inner and outer self, barely noticed by them at all.
Her steady walk alludes; she wants to be in disguise
Preserving herself, concealing all that’s inside
She hides her body, from the piercing eyes
Upholding the deception, of surging tides
In a quiet and dusty ground she lie,
Forlorn as ashes, shriveled, scentless and dry –
Sealed in her shell, life seemed an endless maze
And in her womb another life is set ablaze