The spark was lost.
From her life, from her eyes.
Her eyes, stoned eyes.
The mascara rubbed off.
Like ashes scaterred on the grounds of a lost war.
Lost. Lost into her stoned eyes, I saw,
Her soul lost into far away lands.
The ghost inside her came out, and life hid inside somewhere,
One life, two souls lost.
It wasn’t a sight you see everyday, not a sight you can bear to see anyday.
Dementors ruled the skies, the black evening skies
Cries. Of lives around. So many cries.
A rose about to end its bloom,
I try to water it. Try to soil it. Water it some more.
But it is night time, there is no sun, there is no light.
It shall pass. This too shall pass. It must. It has to.
The rose must bloom. The morning must knock the doors,
For her eyes can’t remain stoned forever,
Her soul can’t be lost, must not be hurt,
She is a one who must be taken care of, nurtured,
If she holds on to life, souls around shall only then come back to life.
Must hold on to her, bring her back, as her emptiness, creates emptiness in lives she has touched.