Her name was Claire and her eyes were crystals.
I noticed her at the front of the lecture hall.
Always at the very first row, ahead of us all
I wondered if she tried to get ahead of life, too
I noticed her at the front of the lecture hall.
Always at the very first row, ahead of us all
I wondered if she tried to get ahead of life, too
She was pretty,
With that kind of a fragile build and aristocratic face
I never saw her talk to anyone,
Or even voicing up her answer during classes.
I wondered if she was too much of a snob.
I wondered why I gave it so much thought.
Or even voicing up her answer during classes.
I wondered if she was too much of a snob.
I wondered why I gave it so much thought.
And then I found out she was mute.
The problem with the major percentage of the population, I realized.
Quick to judge, clouded by distrust and disdain
The problem with the major percentage of the population, I realized.
Quick to judge, clouded by distrust and disdain
Assuming the worst of things
And seeing what we want to believe.
And seeing what we want to believe.
But not Claire.
She saw the beauty in life, the good in people.
She fed hungry, dirty stray dogs
She fed hungry, dirty stray dogs
Looked after forgotten, lonely people in the streets.
They would then look her in the eye, gratitude reverberating like warmth on a sunny day
Then I thought to myself,
They would then look her in the eye, gratitude reverberating like warmth on a sunny day
Then I thought to myself,
Funny how the sincerest of things are not conveyed through vocal chords.
I wondered if she was heaven reincarnate.
Or just an angel sent to make me a better being.
I could write sonnets about the clairvoyant Claire.
How she seemed to see through masquerades and façade.
I might won a Pulitzer if I could perfectly capture her presence in strings of sentences.
How she made colors a little more vibrant, confections a little more sweeter.
How she seemed to see through masquerades and façade.
I might won a Pulitzer if I could perfectly capture her presence in strings of sentences.
How she made colors a little more vibrant, confections a little more sweeter.
And life truly worth living.
She had perfected the arts of a language of her own.
In the way she savored every drop of rain when she twirled under the pour,
In the little gestures she made, each telling a story if only you'd bother to see.
And in the way she laughed inaudibly with crinkles around her eyes
In the way she savored every drop of rain when she twirled under the pour,
In the little gestures she made, each telling a story if only you'd bother to see.
And in the way she laughed inaudibly with crinkles around her eyes
That night we were stargazing.
Featherlight touch of her fingertips traced circles on my wrist.
Then she interlaced our fingers, interlinked our dreams, interlocked our fate.
And in moments like these, I was soaring and infinite.
Definitely infinite.
Featherlight touch of her fingertips traced circles on my wrist.
Then she interlaced our fingers, interlinked our dreams, interlocked our fate.
And in moments like these, I was soaring and infinite.
Definitely infinite.
She was dictionary of expressions.
She was litany of vivacity.
She was technicolor in a monochrome world.
She was poetry when the world was still learning alphabets.
She was litany of vivacity.
She was technicolor in a monochrome world.
She was poetry when the world was still learning alphabets.
**
H,
November 2015
posted here with several edits
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