Wednesday , August 21 2019

She Had no DIS in her Ability.

A connectivity to earth,
An affinity with self.
A longing touch,
With a prolonged feel.

Black was her colour,
The only one she could see.
For the Dark was bright,
And it cast her sight.

Her eyes had the magic,
Magic to see through echoes,
Magic to see by the tender touch.

Pure among the vague,
Blossom through her way.
With a stick to walk by,
A gift to stand by.

Dusky was her vision,
Yet her soul so bright.
For she knew how to love,
And also that it doesn’t require sight.

For her Life was a novel,
With various chapters to shovel.
And she the only reader,
For she had no DIS in her ability.

-Pranita Mukhija

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