Her hair was tousled into buoyant waves,
Dancing with the canopies of the fierce flames,
Red, orange and yellow, in a hundred shades,
The sun dyed everything in gold, just she remained.

Wrapping her arms around the soul of the world,
Of all who love, and those who need to love,
Passion turning her eyes into the brightest of fires,
Hair liquid sunshine against her face so pale.

If Gods were real, she would be their masterpiece,
Storms a whispering breeze, kissing her skin,
Poetry swimming and licking at her thoughts,
She was a million weaved moments; transient and real.

The nascent sunlight caressed her skin, promising her a new dawn,
The cold painted a bright pink on her cheeks,
Her eyes a reflection of the azure sky,
And there she was- gone with everything.


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© Dishashree Swain