She

She is a diamond Cut into precision with patience Whose maker needs no appreciation For they themselves are the lapidary and the raymond. She remains in a haste And sprints towards nothingness Just like some smoke Feeling bored, grey and weightless. She regrets her mistakes On falling for the unworthy bidder Because the unworthy just knows rocks But, was an incredible flatter. Though being the owner, did not even spend an hour To cherish the glaze Of that beautiful haze. She is a masterpiece, With splashes of black ink. It cannot clean itself, although it wants to So it urges for someone to lend a hand or two. Remember the words of the saint For the art is made of cactus, With a pinch of disdain blood paint. She is an emerald, Who is unknown by her rarity. Well! here I laugh at the stupidity of others Who perceived her to be some useless rock Without having utter knowledge of her sanctity. She is bewildered Who craves for that someone Someone who lifts her and takes into the wild To introduce her with the lake and her reflection And say “you are just beautiful, you are nothing but perfection”. I am not sure, If I’ll ever be able to get a piece of her Or win the lottery and just preserve her. But I’ll surely try, try to achieve Because, she is worth it. She is that, She is perfect.