A strong foundation

It is a timeless advice, perhaps... Build a strong foundation, and then experiment. If you fail, fear not. Keep trying, keep learning and you will eventually succeed.

Not much is said about what it takes to build a strong foundation... The many attempts, the hard work, the people who had already found their core and gave you the advice you needed at the time when you needed it. The people who failed to build their own foundation... Setting aside their attempts to give you the platform you needed to move forward. The people who didn't have the time or resources to build a foundation... Who had nobody before them who could even give them a start, a first step... Whose lives consist not of experimenting, but just getting by.

Let's speak again of those who did indeed manage to build a foundation. Only to find after many years of relying on the foundation that there were cracks all along, and that the strength of their foundation was an illusion... A clever polishing that hid the cracks all along. That they didn't know half the truth about what their foundation was built on top of.

Seeing and realising all of these may seem grim. Yes, perhaps it is. Yet, not grimmer than the realities that are being seen. For a light now shines upon what is - the realities that once seen, cannot be unseen. And perhaps this awareness is not grim, but a sliver of hope - a silver lining. For once the realities are seen, we can find the tools to either face them and accept them... Or to shape them if we choose to.

Waves of chaos

Fingers run through the waves of chaos
Unravelling the knots of confusion
Exploring as they go, easing open the doors
Smoothing them out to a conclusion.

Softly, gently. Do not move too swiftly
Tender are the seas and they must be caressed.
Nurture the roots and the rest will all blossom
Through adamance, they'll not be addressed.

Life just is - it needs no apology,
Have respect for each other, and care.
Yet, fight we will when our pains are neglected.
With these thoughts do I brush my hair.

My closet is dark, damp, cold, noisy and lonely

Meet my closet.

It's dark in here. Things are a jumble. Things are a mess. But it's a familiar mess. It's untouched, untainted by anyone else's interference. What I do in here, what I put in here, what I leave in here - remains unassailably mine and mine alone. The light isn't off by accident, or because the light is broken. I choose to leave the light off. Because I'm not ready to shine a light on my closet. Because it needs to remain hidden. I don't need a light to find my things in here. Even if I don't find something, I know that a light wouldn't help me in my search for it.

It's damp in here. Damp because it's soaked with my tears. Tears that came, tears that wanted to come but couldn't. Tears that won't come because I've been reminded whenever I had to step out of my closet, that I shouldn't have tears. That I should be happy. Because nobody can see my closet, so they think it doesn't exist.

It's cold in here. I'd have expected it to be warm. But it isn't. Because I know I can't stay in here forever. I know that whatever comfort I find in here, is ephemeral. Yet, it's better than outside. Outside, I get to be numb. Here, I can feel, even if it's cold. The cold is a reassurance that all is not yet lost.

It's noisy in here. There are voices - voices with meaning, voices without meaning, voices beyond meaning; voices that are audible, voices that suppress, voices that are suppressed - an imbroglio of thoughts and views.

I'm lonely in here. I know I'm not the only one with a closet. I've been invited to some of my close friends' closets, and I've had them visit mine. Well, at least the sections of my closet that I'd neatly prepared for their visit. Because it's scary to share it all. I'm not ready for it. And they are not ready to see it all.

Do I step out of my closet? Yes. I have no choice. My closet doesn't feed me. My closet isn't a utopia or a panacea. It's a necessity. I need my closet because it's the only place where I can take my armour off. The armour that I'm told that everyone must have. And I wear this armour whenever I step out of my closet.

The armour conceals who I am. When I'm out of my closet, wearing my armour, people expect me to be like everyone else. If, at any time, my armour is peeled back in the slightest way, they remind me how I don't look like everyone else. They tell me I'm broken. Some will stab me, in the belief I'm violating some law of nature, or that they ought to stab me so that I'll wear an armour and look the way they expect, when they see me again. Some appear to not know there is an armour at all. Or that when they see me with the armour, they see who I am.

There are some people who will share with me that they wear an armour too. Who will tell me they weren't born with the armour. That the armour isn't part of them. That like me, they wear the armour because it conceals who they are. That like me, they have a closet too. And whether or not they are yet comfortable inviting me to their closets, they understand what it means to have a closet, and why I have one.

Speaking of closets has been taboo. We only speak of them when we're ready to come out of them. I think it's time we reclaim the closet. It's time to stop making our closets a matter of shame. For us to have the freedom to come out of our closets (and yes, I do dearly wish to not need a closet and an armour), we first need the freedom to have our closets and to be in them, and to talk about them. For us to be able to say, I have a closet, and while I can't share with you what's in it, it's mine. And I need my time and space in my closet.

This is me, reaching out to those of you who understand what it means to have a closet, and to wear an armour when having to step out of it to face the world outside. To share with you - you are not the only one with a closet. I have a closet too. And this is how my closet looks, feels and sounds.

Perhaps, one day, I'll be comfy enough to tell you what's inside, or even come out of it.

May the 4th be with you Part 2

Continued from May the 4th be with you...

It was 10 AM PDT. Paul got back to his desk. He had barely managed to get through the meeting with his accountants. His taxes were in place, and his business contracts - he was praying that one of them would pull him out of his debt.

Yes, Paul was in debt. In fact, the family was in debt, and not for a reason of their own doing. Paul knew that Great Grandpa had tried to do his best to avoid this situation, and made sure Paul was always kept informed, lest he had to get his own hands dirty to clean it up. But Paul had also been making his plans and making do with whatever finance skills he had picked up from GG. Also, he knew he could count on his accountants to dot the i's and cross the t's.

But the meeting had done more than help sort out his paperwork. While parting, one of the men had said... "May the 4th be with you" and everyone had a hearty laugh. Paul had missed the reference, and on asking was gently reminded of the old "Star Wars" reference - at which point he felt sick to the core for not having made the connection himself.

Sir Vonn Farthings had been a die-hard Star Wars fan. Paul vaguely remembered him watching and rewatching the original trilogy when Paul was still a child. It now occurred to Paul that the clue had to be in one of those quotes from the trilogy, and he contemplated rewatching the entire series to figure out.

In fact... where did GG move his movie collection? They used to be on the shelves, but ever since last Christmas, he had been clearing up that shelf in preparation for something that he wouldn't explain to Paul. Whenever he had asked, all GG said was... "It's a secret project. You will know when it's time for you to know. It's very important, and it must be done."

Paul went back to check on the shelf anyway. He walked through the 2nd floor corridor from his bedroom to the library, wishing for once that he didn't live in a humongous mansion with half a dozen doors in each corridor. While passing, he glanced at each wall hanging he crossed. Mr. Higgins, the butler, had done his job well. Paul couldn't see a single speck of dust anywhere.

As he reached the library, Paul could already see something was out of place. He saw plenty of books... but they weren't arranged the same way that he was used to. "Mr. Higgins, can you lend me a hand here?" he called out.

Mr. Higgins walked up from the basement, carrying a steam vacuum cleaner. As soon as he entered the library, he noticed there was no mess to clean up, and quietly kept the steam vacuum cleaner aside, took off his gloves, wiped his fingers with hand sanitizer, and walked over to Paul.

"Yes, Master. Farthings - how may I help you?"

"Why are the books all out of order?"

"Aah, yes, Master. I'm given to understand that Sir Farthings decided to give up use of the old Dewey-Decimal system to upgrade to the more recent and popular BISAC system that's been, as I understand, used in most bookstores and even most public libraries, for eons now."

"I see. Are you familiar with the new system, Mr. Higgins?"

"Not entirely, Master, but I have the feeling I can get my way around. What is it that you're looking for?"

"The Star Wars Movie collection. Just the original three. It is the 4th of May, after all!"

"Indeed, Sir. Just a moment."

Mr. Higgins then pulled out his cell phone, punched a few keys on it, and a blue light appeared on the shelves, right over the space between a few discs.

"They should be right over there, Master Farthings", he said, pointing.

After Paul was done shaking off his surprise from watching the "new indexing technology" in action, he walked over to the empty slots and noticed the discs were not where they should have been. Instead, he found something scribbled on the shelf...

"May 11th, after the meeting with Mr. Pifanny - GG"

Paul stared at the date with confusion. It was indeed the same ink that GG used. That was the exact date that he had asked his accountants to come back to follow up. He hadn't decided the date and time until he walked into the meeting. And no-one had joined him into the meeting, and he had escorted the accountants out right after. Even Mr. Higgins didn't know when that next meeting would be.

Paul ran his thumb over the ink. It was still wet.

"Is everything alright, Master Farthings?"

There must have been a reason why the note mentioned Mr. Piffany, and yet not Miss Silway. GG was not a man to omit people. Searching for an answer, he replied,

"I think so. Can you look up Breakfast at Tiffany's for me, please?"

Mr. Higgins punched a few keys, and a new light showed up - and just as Paul had anticipated - the Star Wars trilogy was right there, next to Breakfast at Tiffany's.

"Thank you, Mr. Higgins. That will be all for now."

"Yes, Sir".

As Mr. Higgins walked away, Paul thought he felt a feather brush against his neck, and a pat on his back. He turned around quickly to check, but he could see nobody around. And then the full meaning hidden in the quote occurred to him:

"May the 4th, Be with you".

GG had been here in the room with him. Then Paul stared back at the note on the shelf, where the light flickered one last time before turning off.

He would have to wait patiently till May 11th now.

May the 4th be with you

“May the 4th be with you.”

That’s all it said. Of all the things in the world to say to a great grandson that he had spent virtually his entire life taking care of, like his own son, feeding him, playing with him, teaching him all the lessons of life, defending him through the rough weather that life always brought their way… after all that... That’s all his great grandfather had chosen to write in his will.

80. What a number to hit before the sleep of eternity. At 16, Paul didn’t think much of life. He had seen a lot already. He was glad Great Grandpa could finally move on. Hopefully, the other side didn’t have any of this chaos.

Paul’s mind went back to the will. He was beyond the mourning phase. It had already been a couple weeks, when his family lawyer brought to him the will, and said to him… “What do you make of it?”

After all, the old man had no other legacy. Yet, Mr. Tucker knew there had to be more to the will. There was always something hidden in words penned down by the infamous late Sir Robert Vonn Farthings. He should know. Come, let us not talk of that time when he managed the sale of the family mansion - to be sold for a penny to the man who would cross the ocean of Piranhas to save the Princess Mary. Only - there was no Princess anymore - all countries were now democratic. Piranhas weren’t to be seen for a thousand miles - nor an ocean. And the mansion - thankfully, that did exist, but pennies hadn’t been in circulation for 100 years.

Sir Vonn Farthings had his way with words, puzzles and mysteries. Why not? After all, it was the one idiosyncrasy that annoyed those who worked for him. He always took such care of them, that they almost started to believe they were extended family. Everyone sought to work for him - yet, he was not to be taken lightly. One had to be pure of heart and intentions to stand even a chance to be interviewed by him.

As for Paul - he was a remarkable boy. He treated everyone with respect, always put on a show of cheerfulness, went about any task he picked up with diligence. Yet… there was something queer about him lately. He had stopped seeking answers. He lived life as he had lost too much - as if his soul could never be healed.

Paul was the last person to be unaware of his great grandfather’s riddles. The thought of a legacy after he passed away had never crossed his mind. But the last thing Paul wanted right now, was one final unanswered riddle to haunt him for the rest of his life. And so he decided he had to solve it.

“May the 4th be with you.”

Paul put the letter back in the envelope, and stared at his desk. He watched the second hand of his clock tick as time inched forward. What was special about today? Why was it so important for this day to be in his favor? He had to work it out, and work it out soon. Or he would lose any remaining traces of clues that might help him solve it. Today, or never.

He took out the letter again, and started searching every nook and corner of the letter for any symbols, smudges, marks - anything that told him more. But he found nothing. The ink was sharp. It was the same blue ink that Great Grandpa had used since Paul read his first alphabet. The rest of the sheet was plain white and spot clean.

Then he saw the first clue! Written on the envelope was:

“Will: To be opened 14 days after”

Great Grandpa knew his last day was coming. He knew it with precision. He had handed the will to Mr. Tucker with full knowledge of when “May 4th would arrive”. This wasn’t about just a casual riddle. There was something deeper here - a hidden message. Did he end his own life? If so, why? Or… Paul dreaded… was he murdered? But that didn’t make much sense. How would he know the exact date of his murder?

A sudden knock on Paul’s door broke his chain of thought. It was his accountant. There were some business meetings he had scheduled, and he couldn’t wake away from them. Great Grandpa’s mystery would have to wait till 10 AM PDT.

Paul put the envelope back in, safely into his drawer, cursed his fate, and then put on the best smile he could and walked out to meet the accountant with a firm and confident handshake.

Continued in Part Two

Words were all

Words were all he had with him

And words are not enough.

She touched him like a ray of light

Not yet she knew much of his plight.

But give him lots of hope she did

Be virtuous, man up - she bid

To him was she epiphany

Such grace and charm did never see.

That moved his mind and soul and man

That purified with such elan.

At first knew not what hapt to him

For he’d been hedons to the brim

A noble thought but now and then

Yet much the lion in his den.

She brought him out into the fray

Confront his demons so he may

And when fake pride had come undone

Put him together back to one.

So filled with gratitude was he

Repaid to her he’d never be.

From then was she his queen of hearts

The one who’d healed his broken parts.

So much he wished to do for her

Cross oceans, seas, ev’n Jupiter.

And told her every wish he had

Each word he said just made her sad.

Words were all he had with him

And words are not enough.

God, Boon and Bane

If God - if there is a God,

gives - if such were to occur,

would it be upon us,

to good or ill, a status or intent confer?

Do we look a gift horse in the mouth,

or unwrap it and see what it might offer?

If boon - if we grant such a label,

were consumed without thought,

what perils it may later bring us,

consider - all of us ought?

And, with care, must we examine it

for our biases must be caught?

If bane - oh, what a shame,

were lamented and too early discarded,

all the fruits it may later bring,

all its hidden benefits prematurely parted..

Is it God that brought us such evil,

or was such ill, by our haste, started?

Oh, come now friends,

Let finding our peace within be our advice,

hold hands and accept what comes,

without grouping it virtue or vice.

Nor judging a supreme being or force,

of whose true nature we cannot surmise.

When one man gains,

and another man suffers,

Let us resolve to work together,

like caring sisters and brothers.

For true lasting happiness within us comes,

from being grateful and seeing happiness in others.

Fairness of life - and the purpose of civilization?

This post is inspired by a post by a dear friend of mine...

"The only thing fair about life is that it is equally unfair to all!"

to which my reply was... "I really wish this were true." and I pledged to write a blog post about this.

That status message made me think a lot... about fairness, about equality, about people, experiences, society, and many other things. I'll try to make (and support) two assertions today:

1. Life is unfair. And life is unequally unfair.
2. We've all known Point 1 for a long time, whether consciously, or subconsciously. And we're all already working on this together, and we recognize it as a problem. The solution is called "Civilization".

I don't think we need much debate on whether life is unfair. We see plenty of instances of it in each of our lives - anything that you wished for, or wanted, and somehow, despite your best efforts, seemed to escape you - whether it's a meal, a job, a grade, a vacation or love.

We aren't born equal. Some of us are born without a hand, a leg, with a weak heart, or blind or deaf or dumb. Some of us are born with a predilection towards certain diseases or disorders, some physical, some mental, some triggered only when our life leads us towards certain circumstances. Some of us are not even completely born - dying in the womb before we see light. Some of us meet accidents down the road of life, often for the sole reason that a set of events coincided at a time in a certain way.

If we were all born in jungles, Mother Nature would apply its standard rule on all of us - "Survival of the fittest". Predators would attack anyone that "fell behind" in any way at all. And by this discrimination itself, Mother Nature would demonstrate that we are not born equal. And since all of these "weaknesses" were not ours to choose at the time of birth, it is indeed unfair as well.

This unfairness is also unequal. Even two identical twins may have very different lives. It could take just some camouflage on one fine day to end the fate of one while the other lives on. 

Alright, we're done with the sad stuff now. Here comes civilization...

Man is a social being. We don't believe in each finding our own way from birth to grave. We believe in cooperation. If you can pick berries and I can hunt deer, we team up and work together, so that we both gain. If you're good at growing crops, and I'm good at knitting clothes, we work together, and gain. This is the essence of civilization. We each find the things that we're good at, and we take care of each other. And if someone hasn't yet figured out what they're good at, we share and we protect them, because we care. 

This is the essence of civilization... that collaboration of the human spirit... which has inspired us to build societies of democracy, of egalitarianism, of chasing down every single thing that we see as the unequal unfairness of life, and to pledge our cause to understanding the nature of this unfairness and to try and bridge the gap... so that tomorrow we may all look forward to a world of less unfairness.

It is this same essence that has made us recognize the nature of discrimination of gender, caste, color, creed, race and religion, and made us enact laws that prevent such discrimination. It is this same essence that makes us work towards understanding health, to find and cure diseases as they break out, or to study the brain, understand how it functions and how to repair it when things go wrong. It is this same essence that inspires us to make bionic eyes for the blind, ears for the deaf, limbs for the paraplegic. It is this same essence that inspires so many of us to build new things, so that someone in another part of the world can save their time, or be saved from inconvenience or pain, or perhaps be given a smile once again, whether by curing an illness, or just listening to that song that touches our hearts.

Civilization is not perfect. Indeed, perfection is not what civilization strives for, or believes in. Rather, civilization strives for equality. It strives for being a voice for the voiceless. For giving each and every one the opportunity to act as they choose, as long as their action is not at the expense of others - and to protect those that face the ill consequences of the actions of others. Civilization is a process, not a state of being, and it will not end its continuous cycle of finding and leveling out the imbalance of justice that is inherent in nature - for civilization believes that "Survival of the Fittest" is not what should govern our existence, and that we can defy this "edict" and recognize the deeper value in each of our lives.

And with every stride that civilization takes, we are brought closer to an understanding that despite all our seeming differences, we all can and will work towards an environment in which we can not only peacefully coexist and prosper, but also bring equality and fairness to counter that unequal unfairness that Mother Nature so ruthlessly imposes on us all.

I will end with one final note. When you feel that life is unfair to you, reach out to civilization - whether it's your family, your friends, your loved ones, or a stranger who will lend an ear - not because we have all the answers, or that we have any miracle cure for what you're going through - we probably don't. But reach out to us - because we care.

The walk

I went for a walk day this weekend.


This line and pause is for those of you who started laughing at the end of the previous line... to help you catch up. And yes, I admit I should take walks more often. *sigh*


This post is going to be less about the aimless paths my feet took, and more about the journey of my mind.

As I walked along the highway, I noticed a line of idols of Lord Ganesha, each about one and a half times my height. I noticed that most of them were yet unfinished. What caught my attention most though, is that the hands of the idols were left hollow. I stepped closer to one of them, and noticed, through the hole, that there were cobwebs being built inside. I was struck by the contrast of the two varieties of artwork in progress. I let that thought linger while I moved on.

Soon, I came across what I thought looked like a series of finished idols of Lord Ganesha, with one hand up, and one hand down - the symbol of protection and blessing. I observed the curves of these completed idols, and how they looked so identical from a distance, but perhaps differed in very small measurements. Each of these quite likely had some quirk that made the piece like no other next to it. I also thought again about the spiders that would perhaps not survive in these finished and sealed idols. Each piece of artwork made, quite likely, by clearing out many more pieces of artwork that had formed within it as it made its progress.

There seemed to be something very subtle about that thought, though I couldn't yet start to describe it. So I walked on, past the many slums of the artists who had probably spent ages making each of those idols.

Presently, I chanced upon an artist working on one of those idols in progress. She appeared to be sitting in roughly the same pose as the idol she was drawing - legs crossed, on a stool of some sort, only with the raised hand holding a tool which she was either carving or painting with, and the other hand, down in her lap, her eyes focused in concentration on the job at hand. It made me wonder for a while who was the creator and who the created. Or, really, was there any distinction? Or perhaps such labels only helped us in forming some abstract concepts for the relationships between the things we see, for the purpose of the perspective we choose to assume in the present.

I decided to change my subjects, and let my eyes wander, my mind still stuck on the juxtapositions. Soon, my attention was drawn to the beautiful bridge-like structure under construction for the new MetroRail of Hyderabad, hovering over the highway. A man put on his hard-top hat, chatted with a coworker, and picked up his welding machine to make some changes. As I turned my eyes away to avoid staring into the bright splinters from the welding, I realized it was just about time for sunset. And lo and behold, on the other side of the road, the clouds had become a soft orange. A bird flew through the sky, through the fading sunset, and right over the concrete of the bridge, and past it. I wondered if it was headed back to its nest.

Now, with the sunset over, I attempted to cross the road, and turn back, to be homeward bound myself. Yet, my thoughts were still jittery, and I stood still under the bridge, hesitating to cross till I had enough attention to avoid being run over.

Then, slowly, the pieces appeared to come together. Here was nature on one side - the bird, the sky, the clouds, the spiders and their cobwebs. And on the other side were the bridge, the construction worker, the artist, the idols of Lord Ganesha. It often feels like an Us versus Them. Man versus Nature. Artificial versus Natural. And, yet, in that moment, they didn't seem all that disparate at all. It appeared as if the patterns were just repeating themselves. It seemed as if the spider's cobwebs were really no different at all from Man's idols, roads, buildings and bridges. They were no different from the honeycombs made by the bees, or the nests made by the birds, or the anthills made by the ants. Man is just another organism on Planet Earth, with a different manner of artwork than the other organisms out there, changing his home to suit how he pleases - sometimes dislodging other organisms, sometimes remembering them and providing for their coexistence.

I smiled to myself and thought... at the end of the day, everything Man has learned, he has learned from nature. And that complex learning itself, is perhaps, just his nature.

And now, I was finally ready to finish crossing that highway and head home.

You make me...

(Inspired by conversations with the moon)

You make my head go *poof*

You make my heart go *flutter*

Coz when you’re with me

You make me… me.

Your smile brings me to life

Your eyes electrify my soul

Coz when you’re talking to me

You make me… me.

Never thought I could feel so good

You take bliss to a whole new level.

You bring down all my walls.

And you make me… me.

All I need is a little patience.

Coz nothing worth it is easy to get.

But I know that you are worth it.

Coz you’ll make me… me.

I watch the setting horizon

With the hue of your blushing face

I think of the times we’ve had together

And how you make me… me

Is this… the end? Or is it a new beginning?

Have I... lost myself? Or have I found myself finally?

Has the… world stopped turning? Or has my life come to a still?

I don’t know what’s happening to me. I’m undergoing a transformation.

Will you… please caress me? Tell me it’ll all be alright.

I believe in you now… coz you’re the only one.

That can make me… me

As we part ways, I have no hard feelings.

Every single moment, was how it was meant to be.

Though the distance appears to grow,

I know we’ve blended into one.

You’ve made me… me.

Her Tale

None so perfect as she

Ever was, nor ever shall be.

Gilded with gold

Was every story she told

Of her sentence, every word

Had majestic wings like a bird.

Her emotions were no less

Not a tear would she suppress

And her thoughts too ran deep

Like staring down a cliff so steep.

She cried every day.

Yet not all in dismay.

Every moment she cherished,

With fond memories of those now perished.

That she must lead the future,

Was the spirit she would nurture.

And she deemed nothing too tall,

For even mountains could fall.

The strength of her mind was from experiences bold

But, truth be told, the girl could be hardly called old.

Resolute to the core, for no man ill will she bore.

She knew all sins were simply washed away by the shore.

Water all around her,

Chaos and disorder,

Were all that she faced

With every step that she placed.

The ice caps were melted

The islands had all folded.

But for ships that could be sailed

Few other lands had prevailed.

She sailed the way of the ole' Horner

With all the courage she could garner.

A thousands miles she would cross

Following the Great Albatross.

The Phoenix was the hope she sought

For rise again, she felt it ought.

Placed a loving hand upon her womb

'Membering she'd soon sail to her tomb.

Thunder, rain and lightening struck

Yet she knew that she wasn't out of luck

She smiled up at the Gods above

And laughed at their twisted sense of love.

Seconds to minutes, minutes to hours.

Hours to days and nights of showers.

Moons new and full, and seasons passed.

The wind blew 'against the mast.

At last she saw the hills of age.

The Himalayas, home of sage.

The sun came out to give them a glitter.

As birds she now saw sing and twitter.

The monks took her in, with greetings of peace.

They beckoned she rest now, in the shade of the trees.

Her sleep was too fleeting, and she woke up in pressure.

And ere the end of hour she delivered a beautiful treasure.

Long live the girl, one of not more than a dozen.

For she did survive, fate chose her for a reason.

Her mother's time run out, she wouldn't make it through.

Her last breath held a smile. To her goal, she had stayed true.

A twenty years later, she stared at the ocean.

Determined to survive, yet filled with strong emotion.

A man saw her crying, and came to hold her hand.

And she whispered in his ears, the tales of long forgotten land.

The man listens intently, moved by every word.

A glint in her eyes, as they watch a flying bird.

None so perfect as she

Ever was, nor ever shall be.

Gilded with gold

Was every story she told

Of her sentence, every word

Had majestic wings like a bird.

Her emotions were no less

Not a tear would she suppress

And her thoughts too ran deep

Like staring down a cliff so steep.

She cried every day.

Yet not all in dismay.

Every moment she cherished,

With fond memories of those now perished.