Poetry

A Lack-lustrous Life

A young Woman, usually archaic.

She sits in her study, letting herself muse over;
thoughts bestrewed like a Confetti under the mild-colored sky.

So much chores to do.
So much to cope with.

A wild-chasing to outwit the mass;
Or, surviving the vogue, at the least.

She wants to believe her life was beyond the recurring routine.
Far away from: Disgust, Wretched and Horrid.
Proximal to: Solicitude, Intimacy and Altruism.

For one winsome, transcending moment, she becomes the Royal line of Happiness, too.
Until, her pitiful reality gushes out.
Lifting herself out of fantasy, forcibly;
To save her from the disappointment, later on.

Later, she will step out of her house, in the attire, of renewed looks;
her head still high but soul tamed;
for the world will always expect a fiercely moving story!

Exclusively, struggling between subdued tantrums and chicanery souls.
Only, Now. Only, Again....
...she expects to be loved passionately.

Just like every-other day!

O my...
'Tch-tch', faces frown.
'Tick-tock', clocks rumble.
O Dear...
She's learning to embrace death.
And... She will.

Not people, not Kinships. Neither.
But the Long survival, until Death.

All thanks to "The Ideal Society",
whose castigation is waxed in extrapolation.