Undercover Angel
Like a river of fresh cold flowing water,
She delivers afresh bold glowing words.
To soothe herself as she knows that’s where her comfort lies,
In singing and listening and writing poems,
Inside which lies peace of mind and serenity of spirit.
She finds that she could interestingly live a thousand lives existing in one time zone.
Her eyelashes,
Like strings of a guitar,
And a symphonic melody produced when she blinks.
And as the star that she is,
She sings and syncs in an inaudibly twinkle,
But self assuredly that her music gives her joy,
And soothes her sorrow.
Her smile,
A twine of freedom and depression.
Only makes sense when you think deep of it.
Yet that smile is the widest, wildest thing you’ll see in a spree when you cursorily gaze through her face.
Her teeth,
As gracious as they could ever be,
Are a perfect description of the creator’s expertise.
Her pride,
On which she slides and glides,
So tide and time can’t bite off her smile.
Her joy,
Even if temporary is guarded by the strongest of angels,
Which ironically and beautifully are clones of herself.
And her shelf filled with loads and loads of imaginary books,
Authored by her and her alone,
But the ink is too bleak for her flawed eyes to see and read at will.
She wishes and prays that one day,
She’ll have a grasp of herself,
And be able to smile genuinely,
And be able to laugh with all her teeth out.
To see a thousand galaxies of stars even behind the blackness of her eyelids,
And be able to see love and light in every scar.
She wishes that someday,
She could read all the books in her shelf,
And retell her stories with daring confidence,
And being an undercover angel.
by Mary Edet
Poetry of an Introvert 