Walking down the memory lane,
Of the pleasant and the unpleasant.
Rekindling the thoughts of all she prevailed.
Only a moment’s instant pain, lasting forever.
The wounds imprinted on the soul,
Whispering to her every single day,
A pang of misery that it was!
Nothing left to rise out of it again.
Life was but a suffering,
Victimised in the hands of her own being.
Bottled up tears never fading away,
The torments of the battle never moving away.
Breaking the cage of the futile,
Dreaming of the skies,
She found herself standing on the edge,
Admiring the inner and the outer flair.
She was flying high,
With compliance in her heart.
“Scars are beautiful,” she said.
Filling life in her soul again.
The bitterness that she concealed,
Were reminders of her battles, and;
The intrusions she conquered,
Serving all as marks of her honour.
She found herself in her anguish,
In tears of sorrows and misfortunes,
Smiling and singing she affirmed,
She owned the scars, they owned her no more.
The scars is where she found Light,
Glistening her little world around,
Dimming the stories of love and lost,
She glorified her scars and walked away.