In her kohl-smeared eyes
smile flickers like simplicity,
when being caught unguarded
in the focus of attention,
Her fingers try to hide her lips,
lips parched in dry absentmindedness.
The old damp fort displays armours,
sets of rusty swords and cannons
like breath kept alive in lifeless device.
The mouldy aloofness of the fort
could not claim her plainness.
White moth-balls consigned to braveness
Time tinkles at her anklets
taming tangled sunrays into silver;
She is indifferent to the tales
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