She

"She is formless
A haphazard figure of disarray
A frailty to be reckoned with
So elusive to tenderness

She's not dainty like one at Tussauds
To mould as per fancy or shape in an urn
She's fluid that flows through interspersed gamut of roles

She wishes to demystify the shrouded enigma of disillusions
To declassify the compartmentalization of ideas and biases
Gazing at worn out threads of environs...
So fragmented, tattered & faded
She's a deviant,a non conformist per se
Conjectures proffer her as fatal phenomenon

She's rather a wild gush
An air of emotiveness, a dust of murkier dawn
Who evokes connotations of society & its whims
She refuses to be a garnishing condiment
For satiating the senses of constructionists

Her effulgence could not be diminished
It rises in sparks & redeems through embers
Whose ash glistens in dark recesses of conscience

You inflict her body with bruise or scar
She comes out, emanating with floral beatitude
That blossoms from eternity of her being

She

Her shadow will envelope for millenia to come
Chivalry would dawn upon coiled labyrinths of ears
As virtuosity lies in strength
To be her, is to be a felicity of delight
To not to be wedded by dogmas of prejudiced ideologies
The ideas that languish in gaols of rust

I look beyond...
The primrose path is near her
I could envisage her formless figure
Clambering the spiral stairs,
She reaches beyond the realm of beauty & beast
Of frames & of definitions
To my mere gaze."