She
She is a diamond
Cut into precision with patience
Whose maker needs no appreciation
For they themselves are the lapidary and the raymond.
She remains in a haste
And sprints towards nothingness
Just like some smoke
Feeling bored, grey and weightless.
She regrets her mistakes
On falling for the unworthy bidder
Because the unworthy just knows rocks
But, was an incredible flatter.
Though being the owner,
did not even spend an hour
To cherish the glaze
Of that beautiful haze.
She is a masterpiece,
With splashes of black ink.
It cannot clean itself, although it wants to
So it urges for someone to lend a hand or two.
Remember the words of the saint
For the art is made of cactus,
With a pinch of disdain blood paint.
She is an emerald,
Who is unknown by her rarity.
Well! here I laugh at the stupidity of others
Who perceived her to be some useless rock
Without having utter knowledge of her sanctity.
She is bewildered
Who craves for that someone
Someone who lifts her and takes into the wild
To introduce her with the lake and her reflection
And say “you are just beautiful, you are nothing but perfection”.
I am not sure,
If I’ll ever be able to get a piece of her
Or win the lottery and just preserve her.
But I’ll surely try, try to achieve
Because, she is worth it.
She is that, She is perfect.
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