Her, not for this life suitable,
With green eyes like two sauces,
Open smile said to be beautiful
And a touch of inner neurosis.
She dreams visional movies and colours
dissolved through grotesque reality,
Demanding logical and callous,
Offerings of this world banality.
There lives in her the knowing
By the birthright of karmic origin,
The submergence of coming and going,
An acceptance of virtuous sin.
Like a frog in a cream jar of struggles,
She welcomes uncertainty’s reign.
Under the threat of sharp material daggers
Keeping herself clothed and sane.
Yet she persists; her morality
Meets with the hard recognition:
In thriving to equal mundane reality
She has to honour her inner vision.