The Balletic Nonpareil

By Arushi Manchanda

She could steal anything, and, it was my soul she embezzled.

Retaliating to her, was what that had me frazzled.

She would imitate me, yet is very disparate.

A kingdom of her own, who knew was she going to create.

With all the heart her followers, abound plenty!

It pounds my heart, as her ministration, for ‘us’ shrunken scanty.

All her glories catches me elated,

As her charm was, changelessly cultivated.

How very exquisitely, in all this time has she flowered,

Infrequently I demur, with ‘self’ if or not I have to keep it all covered.

The oblivion of the world is indeed too grim,

Nudging back to myself, she is not the paper that could bear a trim.

Never would she ever be considerate of defeat, however the defy be strenuous.

As the roar she’d make, was rather TEMPESTUOUS.

By Arushi Manchanda