In depths of the valley of the soul
Where the stream of thoughts fiercely flows,
An untamed spirit magnificently roams.
She has never been
The world’s most favorite girl.
And neither did she aim
For being the dearest one.
They search for her in gardens
Full of exquisite roses.
Barely do they know her,
For she belongs to rocky hillsides,
Throughout the desert,
In barren washes.
Don’t come closer,
For you’ll bleed.
Her flowers are prickles,
That you don’t desire.
Inside her veins,
Run the Cactus Blood.
She retains an aura,
Of mystery and love.
So beautiful
And so full of spines.
Her language is that of
Thorns and spikes.
She creates a beauty
Of another kind.
A sharp, piercing side of dreams
Beyond the moonlight.
Strong and fierce,
She knows how to survive the rough.
Powerful as the ocean,
All about gales and storms.
Crowned with flames,
Under the tubercular sky,
She burns brighter than the sun.
Just like Phoenix,
She’s burning to ignite.
Stars in her eyes,
And an aspiration to soar.
She speaks to the moon,
And crave passion,
Lives with a heart
That’s wide-open.
She wears her heart
On her sleeves too.
Often told she’s a lot to take,
But taming her spirit is something
No one is capable to do.
She is a gypsy,
The wildest soul.
And the rare ones,
Are not supposed to fit in a role.
The finest things are always,
Stubborn, uncontrollable, and free.
Her chaotic being,
Is her deepest truth
A grand expression
And her highest love.
The essence of rebellion,
You cannot contain her.
She never regrets
The most arduous paths she set.
Everything
And yet nothing at all.
Whole,
But still an empty soul.
She is Wilderness,
Engrossed in the spirit of a girl.
– By Maroof