tᕼe giᖇᒪ ᗯitᕼ tᕼe ᗰᗩt

The girl with the mat..
That yogini who swimmingly stretches into poses,
to get away from the world that imposes.
Not at peace,
as she’s still working on her Masterpiece.
Her one hand holding the other, 
Feverishly, waiting to get outta smother.
Her soul that craves for love, 
craves for light,
but the shackles on her feet are tied so tight,
that void in her body,
the emptiness in her eyes,
the scars on her that she carries with pride,
Yes, she does take everything in her stride,
but you would never know last night how much she cried.
May be a queen of her own life, 
but she wants to conquer the world outside.
Now, Vegetating by the window, she is drowning in a deep thought,
what if she could hide,
and never get caught.
Hoping for that day, 
While gazing up the sky,
when her Nape’s tattooed wings,
will actually make her fly.
She who wish to soar high,
with her mat by her side, 
and her bun perfectly tied.
She wants to be free,
but she loves him to the tee,
as she is not just a girl,
but plays roles of three,
Of a daughter, a mother and his lovely.
That father’s little girl,
who loves to swirl and twirl, 
wants to be like an angel,
But she is pulled down by gravity’s furl.
So she decides to be happy,
for someday she will get her real wings,
That will make her do her own passionate things!!!
and now when she stands,
Inverted on her hands, 
her passion gives her,
her own set of wings,
Dancing with the hoops, 
Her life just swings.
Pheww!! No more tears, 
Adios to all her fears,
The girl with the mat is ready to rock for real!!!!!?
She still has to do lots,
to empty her bucket list’s pots,
before she happily gets into her life’s last yoga pose,
thats “The Corpse” !!!
By That Fit Mum