With the ubiquitous havens of lustre,
And the swaying trees in the meadows of the rufflenut valleys with the Riverbed alongside,
Her legs securely tied to the now unfirm branches of the Chinar,
Hung Kips, upside down, with her lustrous hair swaying in the sweet prolonged effects of gravity and the wind ranging so far.
With the tree as her swing and a pure embodiment of her freedom,
Kips looked out for something that’d get her inner voice to sing.
And as she thought about what to write,
An unassuming thread of parchment landed in her hair, stranded somewhere too deep for her to remove it,
The unassuming beauty of the vehemently placed smile gave rise to a thought and everything seemed to perfectly fit.
‘I’d like to write about silence. Things which people don’t speak about and the beauty it’d capture with its fragrance.’
Kips, was 24 and counting,
A fine young lady with the sweetest prolonged smile and the most beautiful liveliness contained in a synergic affluence of purity was usually engrossed in an activity, the common folk who called it, pouting.
The reddish lustre of her insanely indelible lips and the uncommonly flattered visage seemed to reflect sunlight and create an Aurelia Borealis of its own.
With the intent of finding a pattern in the stars,
Kips used to sleep on her terrace most of the days,
Gazing at the small crystals of diamond spread all over the skies, creating such delightful pre images,
She’d say, ‘ Stars are the language.’
Kips had a way of seeing beauty in others, even when that person could not see it themselves.
And that was just what prompted her to write on two different words bonded uniquely together.
Happiness and Silence.
She wanted to write about the things people didn’t speak.
And a thought sparkled as it reflected internally in the sundew shadows of her utterly beautiful visage,
‘ How everything we do, everything we live for and everything we die for, are the same thing. ‘
And as Kips untied herself from the ubiquitous havens of the tree for the sunset had announced its arrival,
And as she made her way steer to the banks of the Holy Ganges,
With each moist imprint of her feet,
She could feel the Moist-laden Air seep through her lungs and pave the way for her body and soul to meet.
Having sat down on the bushing unassuming pattern of sand,
She tried to relive that scantiness of oblivion,
And the ushering mirages of the Beauty in front of her and how her curls touched her legs gently and receded into Dawn.
Having that feeling of serenitical acceptance and the ability to see into the enveloped blankets of life!
What else did someone need?
Time seeped in slowly and as the air and the weather conspired to lift her up in the skies and teach her how to fly,
Kips gave a unassumingly warm Smile as to thank god for having marvelled such perfectionary happiness.
She was happy with herself. That’s all what mattered.
That night, under the dominion of the Constellation affairs,
Kips had the most beautiful night of her life.
With Sand underneath as the most undemanding Unfidgety layered blanket,
And feeling Reed’s presence besides her, Kips had all she wanted.
All, she ever wanted.