She’s traveled for miles
and miles she’s yet to go;
Burning the world onto pieces of paper,
while she walks through the snow.

With a bag on her shoulder,
a vision in her eyes,
a smile on her face,
even while she cries;

She carries on.

For her son,
for her self,
for the world to someday see;
The poetry she paints,
on resin and fiber;
For the likes of you and me.

And she’ll leave it all behind,
in this world of her own,
to brighten our lives,
she pays with blood and bone.

She craves not the fortune,
not the fame for herself,
she wishes to leave it all,
behind on the shelves.

So the world may see herself,
the future may see the past,
the sadness may see the light,
the happiness, the dark;

Hunger may see pain,
and blood may see the vein,
laughter may see the sorrow,
time,
and time again.

The poetess,
walking along,
while I sit here,
amazed by her charm. And her entire being.

She is and shall forever remain,
Priceless!

By: Viraj Belgaonkar