ode to Her

Her,
the personification of
the ferocious fire,
the calm water,
the elegant breeze,
the merciless mountains,
the generous waterfalls.

Her hair,
is like the night sky
dancing, as she walks.
the endearing short stature,
compliments the bronze skin,
for which she appears like
an adorable godchild,
setting everything straight,
with that pure smile.

Her eyes,
they give her away,
When she is trying too hard,
to conceal,
the joy,
the pain,
the grief,
the wrath.
The eyes that tell it all,
the eyes that see it all.

Her face
and every muscle,
for others, it may be attached
to the flesh or
the bones,
but for me,
it reaches her soul,
the soul which is
free,
unimpeachable,
floats like a feather,
covered by her,
glistening skin.
The contraction,
the relaxation,
the control,
of every muscle,
orchestrated by Beethoven himself,
compose such aesthetic expressions.
Ideal for dance, they say.
Ideal for everything I differ.

Her,
the ode, will only get,
longer,
and even longer,
and still,
there won’t be enough
songs, poems, paintings,
that can describe her,
that can justify her,
she is a bird,
that perches,
in hearts,
in souls,
for you and me,
can’t osculate her,
can’t analyze her,
Just see her wings of glory,
spread vast across the numb sky,
covering the majestic sun,
as she flies.

-Atharva

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