A flicker that whispered: there must be more.
So she wandered far on untamed feet,
Chasing magic in every street.
She sought it first in books and praise,
In chalk-dust halls and classroom days.
But knowledge bowed with quiet grace,
No thunder shook her commonplace.
She knelt in temples, sang with choirs,
Lit incense sticks and sacred fires.
Yet heaven echoed back her plea
With silence draped in modesty.
She tried on love, wore wedding rings,
Dreamed of joy that marriage brings.
But even vows and tender touch
Were not the “more” she craved so much.
She drank deep from the world’s delight,
Danced in bars and kissed the night.
But every high, when morning came,
Felt dull, and somehow just the same.
Then still one day, with nothing new,
She turned inward, and the fire grew.
Not wild now, but soft and wide,
A quiet warmth she could not hide.
She saw herself with steady eyes,
No crowns, no wings, no grand disguise.
Just breath and bone, a beating heart,
An ordinary, wondrous part.
And in that truth, she touched the sky:
Not needing more, not asking why.
For stars don’t need to prove their glow,
They simply burn, and let it show.
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