I still think of you sometimes, when the world feels so cold, and fate is bent on a crusade to annihilate my dreams and ambition. I regret that i knew not your name, a crime for which the only punishment fitting this violation is damnation. years have passed, days have ebbed away but the memory of that day still lingers; like the proud scent of an exorbitant fragrance adorned by the grace of an elegant prince. In the innocence of youth, untainted by the lust of adulthood and protected by the cover of institution, awe became the norm. And in that school, in a class full of different students intent on impressing a bunch of arrogant judges, the view of her was refreshing, and equated to my brain as the sight of the proverbial gold pot at the end of the rainbow.
I crease my brow in dire concentration, in front of this computer, trying fervently to remember her details. She was clad in blue uniform, a blue sweater complemented by a blue skirt. Ordinary clothing, but make no mistake, there was nothing ordinary about her. If Shakespeare found favor with the Hindu gods and was reincarnated as a man rather tha6 a sheep, he would go mad creating sonnets about the beauty and aura of this damsel. If Picasso could have feasted his eyes upon her, how inspired he would have been to produce a masterpiece; one which would have made the monalisa as worthless as the man u poster hang in the hawkers stall at the market. But they are luckier than me, for i saw her once and never again. And the poems i write are full of melancholy, and the paintings i make are but a reflection of the profound sadness i felt when it dawned on me; that never again will her beauty grace my eyes, and fate had robbed me, of a gem too priceless to imagine.
Her smile cannot be cheapened by comparing it with anything, and no metaphor or simile here can be adequate to capture the sheer electricity and perfection of that smile. It is the hope that lifts your heart from an abysmal of despair. The haling that rejuvenates your body from the beatings of a hard lifestyle. The drug that intoxicates your dull mind, lifting you hire from the prison of rigidity to a heaven of unbridled imagination. The embrace that shields you from the mockery of failure, protecting you from the immobility of fear.
her body was like music crafted in the abode of the seraphs, where only angels have the honor to give praise to such divine perfection. And if only Solomon had laid sight as to the swell of her bosom, he would have found better inspiration in his songs than to equate them with the idea of a gazelle. For they could not be reduced to mere sex objects, they were like beautiful words in a poem borne of magic and wizardry. Her figure is indescribable, for all the words of beauty combined together falls short in the attempt to give word to such a sight.
But most importantly her eyes, to call them gateways to heaven would be an understatement. You could be lost in those two magical orbs forever, and never wish to be found. You could wonder in them for a million years, and the wonder would never abate. And when she has granted you the divine favor to look into them, you become enslaved deeper than the touch of a mother confessor. perhaps, it is no coincidence that i write this post, i am but a slave to those eyes, and if angels above sing her praise with harps and violin, who I’m i not to heed the call of my lost master.
she will never see this post and know her much she had touched my heart that fateful day. She will never know how perfect she was, and that the rest of the world will strive to emulate her but never succeed in coming even close. yet fate meant it to be like this, perhaps because it deemed me unfit for such honor. For the courtship of such a lady must only be left to heavenly nobility, mortal men having being tested and found lacking.