I’ve seen them walking, half shy,
Their timeless beauty radiating in their smile.
Their eyes so bewitching, I could get lost in them,
And their cheeks, plump and pink,
Like a blooming rose bejewelled with dew.
They were some proud teachers of a Montessori,
Somehow afraid of their own glory.
It happened one day, we decided to play.
Cameras covered, windows shut,
And thus began the frolic.
Their energy was sparkling as the sun,
Their happy faces, aesthetic,
Like a bunch of modest lotuses symbolic.
Have you seen a peacock dance in the rain?
Have you seen a more enchanting marvel?
I did. It was them. Their statuesque bodies, so charming.
But it was the way they moved.
The way they moved, their bodies expressed.
The way they moved, their hips swayed.
The way they moved, their waists swinged.
The way they moved, their feet overjoyed.
The way they moved, it felt like they were princesses, so ethereal.
But they were not. They were not princesses.
For they were angels, screaming for liberty.
That dance, it was as much a revelation for them
As it was for me.
All they wanted to do, was to be free.
Then came the moment,
That swept me off my feet.
One by one, they took off their veils.
Took off their pain.
Took off their restrictions,
Took of their strings.
Took off diffidence,
Revealed their gorgeous mane.
And they danced like the goddesses.
For that momentary eternity,
They set their spirits free.
They twisted, turned, and created a memory.
It was a glimpse of incarnated glee.
But soon enough they went back to their decree.
Oh, all the difference is to me!