Let me tell you the story of this friend I once had. She was stunningly gorgeous, and had the most amazing calming effect on everyone around her, including me. You could gaze into her dreamy eyes and find a compassion that would melt the hearts of the most cynical. She could bring out the best in others, but all she thought and talked about was the others.
For the longest time I believed she was riddled with the bullet-wounds of a torturous past that bespoke of shattered dreams – a life she had dreamt of since she was a little innocous girl. I believed the healing of these wounds had hardened her, made her more resilient, cold – made her the woman she was.
But the reality was that she hadn’t really recovered from those wounds. I realized that her unfinished sentences and unexplained metaphors were ways of protecting herself from reliving those battles and reopening those wounds. That tough exterior of the strong woman was a bandage around the essence of that little girl waiting to break free, and breathe in the morning air, and dream once again.
This poem is dedicated to her memory.
—–
One day in summer, at the end of spring,
I met a woman as pretty as morning.
She brought a smile to my weary face,
And walked confidently with a seductive grace.
She battled the world, like there was no end,
Yet she was everything, you could want in a friend.
Not a night went by when she did not cry,
Yet on no man, defiantly, she resolved to rely.
She made me crave to be a better man,
But never wanted to believe “I can”.
But I wish I could, to her this advice, lend,
There is no tear, true faith can’t mend.
One day she realized, under the morning sun,
That I was there waiting, and there was nowhere to run.
It was then that she decided to again, be a girl,
And give in to her heart, enjoy that twirl.
She’s now that girl, a child at heart,
Who paints her day, like bohemian art.
And that is why, sometimes, I truly believe,
That two and two can add up to five.
And that is why, sometimes, I truly believe,
Apples can fly, straight into the sky.
—–
Topic courtesy of Sunday Scribblings
