Sitting silently in the corner of a locked box
Shackled, tortured;
And Burdened with guilt.
Broken by the
Intricacies of life.
Shaken by
Extreme plights.
Stolen by forces unknown.

It did try best to keep itself intact
On those rosy pink lips,
They look beautiful with it,
The world said.

It now awaits,
a miracle;
Awaits a presence
That will
free it from those steel ropes.
And give it an entirely new meaning.
It looks at that little ray of light
That will help it;
To again dance on those
Sometimes parted,
Sometimes joined
Yet inseparable beauties.

Life is nothing
It thought;
But a dead soul
Captured in a moving body
A mere meaningless existence,
Without that one little touch of it;
That holds the power
To win over everything it touches.

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