Creative Writing

Her beauty was perennial,
like the time.
She walked as though all the suns
conspired to illuminate her.
She had fire in her heart,
untamed and alive.
Her hair made of stardust,
sprinkling light as she passed by.
Made to wipe tears,
unknown was her ached heart.
Her hands weren’t easy,
tough, too tough.
Her ears filtered the distaste,
She walked in trance sometimes,
yet peaceful.
Heart of hers,
remained conceded.
He kissed her forehead,
she wasn’t perfect,
but too beautiful inside.

                             - Amruta Cherian