I see the faint shadow of a dancer, on the weather-beaten road. A silhouette of a damsel, alone, against the orange sky, swaying to the symphony of the evening breeze, the allegro of falling leaves, the concerto of traffic noise.
She moves with the lightest of motions. It was as if she was made of water. So fluid that even physics takes a break, to watch her. She has the grace of a docile cloud, in the early morning sky.
But it would be wrong, to judge her so. For she brews a storm in herself, a tempest waiting to be unleashed.
She dances to forget. She dances to battle her own demons.
But her dynamic trance is noticed by none, For they flee, running away from their fears.
I might have missed her beautiful form, had i not tripped, running just as the others.
I wish I could gaze at her forever.
She moves with the lightest of motions. It was as if she was made of water. So fluid that even physics takes a break, to watch her. She has the grace of a docile cloud, in the early morning sky.
But it would be wrong, to judge her so. For she brews a storm in herself, a tempest waiting to be unleashed.
She dances to forget. She dances to battle her own demons.
But her dynamic trance is noticed by none, For they flee, running away from their fears.
I might have missed her beautiful form, had i not tripped, running just as the others.
I wish I could gaze at her forever.
