She claimed to be an aficionado of life,
Had tall tales for every occasion,
Stealing every show,
Was what she always strived.
The crowd followed her,
Wherever she went,
Her popularity rouse,
And her vogue gradually ascent.
But there was one soul,
Who was different from all,
For he believed in her pneuma,
Than all materialist gloss.
He was the closest,
From everyone that surrounded her,
But he was hardly boisterous,
Despite of his advantageous spur.
She knew what he could do for her,
But the worldly sins allured her,
To some dark side of life.
Soon the time passed by,
So was her fan’s craze,
And in matter of time,
She was lost in a maze.
She tried hard,
Gave it a last push,
But it was a downward spiral,
And she fell deep into an abysmal prickly bush.
Lost when she looked back for once,
She found her lost love,
Standing with a flowery valance,
The one she had denounced,
Was still there for her,
For he was in love with her soul,
Unlike the others who just follow a mere role
Copyright © Shantanu Baruah