Faery child of the concrete jungle

A pair of wings tattooed on her shoulder blades,

her thick braid rested along her spine,the body to the tiny pair of wings.

Scraps of conversation created the buzz of words that mingled to mean nothing at all,and the melange  of noise created by fake accents that make one homicidal scattered in great abundance.

All evening,I kept walking into people,elbowing them in their faces,shuffled along with the crowd ,but I found her and I followed her,to look at her back.

She moved languidly and with an elegance that din't belong to this century,a certain sorrow about her face when she spun around slowly,as I held my breath.

A glimpse,a flash of her plain face,yet it was something else..not long before the crowd pushed me behind and I vanished into the insignificance of numbers,and the stranger,she stayed in my line of sight till she grew into a blurry ice blue speck in the distance,a star among all the others in the sky.A memory,a mottled picture from another time.Cosmic dust could fall out from the seams of her satin dress  as she swirled ,creating a cosmogyral universe of it's own and I wouldn't notice,though,so disenchanting feels the razzmatazz of the everyday world to me.Blame the media and its influences,I say.

But she needed no words to speak,she enchanted with silent mystery.No trace or shadow of a smile even in her eyes,just a hint of agony.

Just when you think wonder will wash away,fade,fray with age...something or someone will make you realise it stays.

                                                                                       

"Arnold Palmer"

Sometimes,I feel that the bits of confetti flying on the streets
 are freer than me,only the aftermath of celebration,
                    they wander aimlessly.
And even if it's only for 52 seconds,with its breathtaking beats,
a song can leave you goose bumps,and for that moment freeze unity.
As we sat there,our thoughts scattered like a sea,

because we found a park bench that fit us perfectly,

I really began to see,what it was to be set free-
Like the little children collecting stray peacock feathers,
like the peacock,itself,serenading the skies,
like the strings of glossy flags waving on streets,
like the downcast clouds that can pour relentlessly.

Freedom feels like a third dimension of its own,
made up of Saturday nights and comforting silences,
Of exploring stories and childhood tragedies,
Words are but an excuse for the sake of
How much love one can hold out.

As our smiles caught the sun,squat in between
the path that curved endlessly-
Sunlit corners inviting our paths to merge,
The light at the end of a tunnel.
In that mirage of an afternoon,we were free,we were free-

Never did I know this is how it would feel.