With locks like the wrath of streams flowing,
Holding the very ground that shattered her bones,
Generational pain flows in veins of this little girl,
She calls herself Love and waits for all the cracks to be sealed,
Crosses the dungeons of lands comprising seven seas,
Sheds blood in battles not of her own; Bleeds and they call it water,
Someday she is bound to break the curse,to brave her own death,
How long can she hold on? To bridges that were bound to burn?
She walks with pride; her burns shaped like demons won-over,
Love overcompensated for a bee sting, for roses to bloom without the barb,
And yet the roses pricked her skin, shed tears in gardens pouring with love.
But how can she ever stare at the mirror and find another entity?
When the Nile who birthed her, played with fire to keep Love alive,
As time recedes from her hands, she embodies her mother in the reflection,
She confronts; Shatters the glass in pieces of obscure shapes,
And yet she sees Nile in herself.
Can time ever heal? Or it’s a charade made for Love, who still holds hope?
The voices in her head haunt her awake, merging with the Nile devours her soul,
Now the roots that kept Love entangled with Nile, she chops them off with scissors pale-blue,
The curls like coal-nights; blind the foundation she stands on, past regrets gleam like wildfire.
Love stares the bloodied hands, once adored by her mother
Slowly paving her way to the tree of life,
Certain this time she seals every crease, and returns to her home.
A home that asks for her very being.