Imperfect

She has a glaring flaw

A flaw that eludes her, blurred 

In the brightness of what she chooses to see.

She, the sweet child, to have that blemish

Like a beauty enhancer 

Like a blessing in disguise,

An inability to guise, a shortcoming to pretend 

Tending to every emotion with parental love

Giving what she can, without an agenda,

A veil, an ulterior motive.

She smiles with her heart, with no sifters in place

She loves with her soul - like love is supposed to be I hear

She speaks like she’s making love to the truth

Or shelling in silence and dwelling in peace

Sweetheart the flawed Her

No manifesto in tow

She shines on the puddles and the planes

Streaming through body bending crevices of sorrows and joys

She has a distracting flaw, that attracts shallow judgements

Made under sinister smiles

For the world has misplaced consciences

Lost in the narrow lanes of personal narratives.

She is what you see, If you see what she is, that is!

For that’s a flaw in itself to see things as they be

As you and me are flawless in word and deed

Our selves dwell in inflated amor

Spread and shared with the a faultless existence

Sometimes I feel sorry for the flawed Her

As a part of this irony called love.

Isn’t it a virtue to feel sorry? Ask the self 

Or may be don’t ask it. Let it be.

I’ll leave the flawed Her alone

Saving her the loneliness of being an odd ball

In a perfect world!