Give her anything, and she will turn that into art — yeah that’s her!
She’s Blue Bird…
I am glad that I know her
As days go by
I see her coming out of her own shell
She seems like a beautifully composed indie-pop song
Deconstructing and Reconstructing — every day.
She’s not anyone’s cup of tea
She’d rather befriend a winter bird till the next December to unravel her inner depths.
Every sand grain she ever touched by her white feet somehow knew the roads she refused to take.
I saw her thriving, gracefully.
Through her artsy eyes and thoughtful mind — she wishes to live, a lil bit.
Amidst Leonard Cohen’s lyrical composition, she finds her salvation.
I saw her, I saw her painting her own portrait as if it rose from the fire itself.
Every page of her books somehow knew they will be adored.
That Moneyplant bottle danced with the air when showers endless love every radiant morning.
The echoes of her soul reach Renaissance Era.
Or what if she belongs to 17th century and Michelangelo missed her presence while painting the Sistine Chapel ceiling?
Her dark curious eyes seek beauty— everywhere.
I wonder what she contemplates while walking on the sea beach.
Does she want to build a beach house and live her life like a half-awaken dream?
Does she want nothing but a cup of coffee?
Does she want to dance like it’s the end of the world?
I don’t know.
I just know I much I love the metamorphosis of her aura. Sometimes the reflections are too bright then again it gets too dark for her consciousness.
I just hope she’s fine with every piece of her atoms.
I hope she unveils her inner self in her paintings, scribbles, and most importantly within herself.
Dear Sam, I hope you love yourself with all the spark that momentarily can drown you into yourself.
Happy Birthday.