Life slowly was like a mirage to her,
Gave her nothing but unrealistic hopes..
She didn’t fret,
She didn’t repent,
Nor had any guilt.
She was not a flower to wilt.
With all that pressure like a diamond under the earth,
Almost like a rebirth,
She was again built.
She was formed like a pearl in the oyster of the wild sea
She was meant to live, she was meant to be..

She was not a subject for any photography,
Nor a muse for any art,
On her, no one wrote a biography.
She was much beyond all that
With all the melancholy
She fought hard & brave.
She lived in many hearts,
But no one could own her.
She was a wanderer.
She had no limits to explore her life & she set no border.
Because now, she had to follow no order.