She is a body
Yet she carries a soul.
Men know her only
Through the curve of her form,
Touch only the surface,
Never the purest part within.
All hunt her shell,
Praise her fleeting beauty,
While her soul remains untouched,
Radiant, immaculate,
A light so pure
It could awaken yours,
Kindle the eternal flame
Of never-ending spiritual love.
She knows
Every man is dying inside,
Chasing shadows of flesh.
Still she waits,
Patient, apart from her own body,
Dwelling already in the realm of spirit,
For the one rare soul
Who will seek her there,
Her true mate.
But her vigil ends in flames,
On the pyre her body burns,
Her deepest longing unspoken,
Unmet. No man ever learned
The language of her soul.
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Author:
Devender Kumar (
Offline) - Published: February 10th, 2026 23:30
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 18
Offline)
Comments2
Wonderful words Devender, nobody knows anyone's beauty unless they know the 'language of her soul'.
Andy
And indeed does anyone ever learn the language of another's soul? This poem holds a feeling of distance and of being valued for only a small piece of what one is. It is what others can use that they value and the true worth remains hidden. Nicely written
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