The veil that was once steadfast, is now revealing,
She winces and broods, for there is a flame burning.
It flutters and sways, tearing away from her hapless self,
Eating away the mask, behind which she effectively hid
herself.
Pragmatic and perfect, that was her demeanour,
And so she upheld a non-chaotic existence with fervour.
The world reverently saw someone, fiercely independent and
happily lonely,
Eventually this pretence became, a deep gnawing misery.
Inside she yearned for a passion unsung,
Fantasized about a fictional affection, to which she
happily clung.
She dared not dream of a corporeal possibility,
And reprimanded herself for this sheer senility.
But as is the rule with balance, order gave way to bedlam,
A sweet cacophony of heartstrings, a delicate melody had
now come.
She realized love had somehow upturned her cocoon of
reality,
Yet the pupa didn’t want a transformation, for the
butterfly symbolised fragility.
Never before had she acknowledged, the happiness of
confusion,
Joys that were somehow invisible, rationality in a state of
delusion.
A tinkle in the eye, jump in her step, now marred her
strict persona,
She turned deaf to what the world said, and they proclaimed
the fall of a Madonna.
Still these transitions she kept invisible from her
beloved,
Tides of time had taught her to never let go, of the
ambitions she so dearly coveted.
Try as she might, she could not yet shed the mask before
him,
And for the bigger tapestry of their unfolding lives,
conferred her love a silent hymn.
She knew she was no one to be a judge, and yet she set up a
test,
She did not want to
surrender in, putting forward her vulnerable best.
Her belief could only foster, when he could comprehend her
silent consent,
Transforming the perpetual forlornness into an ephemeral
one, her judgement done once and for all,
Her final assent.
