Snowflakes in summer.

She walked with a stupor that no one else could pull off.                

Her eyes whispering the thoughts of fading immortality.                      

Arms loose with burden of the scanty flesh.

The bitter reason behind those unpainted nails.

Yes, she spoke a million untold stories.

She walked with a stupor that no one else could pull off.

A jute bag that hung lightly on those incumbent shoulders.

She didn't complain though.

Somehow she perceived the brunt as pleasure.

Yes, she spoke a million untold stories.

She walked with a stupor that no one else could pull off.

Her dampened hair beating the fury of Medusa's.

A voice with a glint of sharpness.

That short-lived sharpness plunging into the bed of seas.

Yes, she spoke a million untold stories.

She walked with a stupor that no one else could pull off.
Call her Alice, Call her Athena.
Paint her crimson, drench her in black.
Because she believes that no colors could be put in the box called 'favorites'.
Each had their poise, each infused with a breath of life.
Yes, she spoke a million untold stories.

She walked with stupor that no one else could pull off.
Her shaggy coat, her vivid smile.
Her auburn face, her wretched cries.
Her brilliant fingers, her futile tries.
She would probably take a subway or board a bus.
Taking the window seat, her eyes gazing outside.
And there she is, amidst the herd.
Her mind brewing a chain of thoughts.
Remember?
She told a million untold stories?

p.s- the poem is open-ended.
p.p.s- No, this blog is not dying a natural death.
p.p.p.s- I'll post more often.
Okay Ta-ta & good night!:)