Enticing Beauty

Is it the unfathomable mysteries of the sky

Or the barren ground below my feet

Is it the lucid dream of the poet

Or the sunset on the horizon of the sea

Not the face, my dear

For something so evanescent and burried in layers

But for once I need to hear,

What’s beauty and why its essence so rare?

Is it the gaze of the woman you adore?

Or the elegance of a gentleman?

Is it the passion of an artist?

Or the first sight of innocence

As some may say,

This beauty is precious:

Adored by many, hated by few

Must be treasured.

Is it so special and important to you?

I’ve spent years in observing

And now, I realise

This beauty is nothing but a mere illusion

But why is it referred

To something so pure and flawlessly elegant?

Am I wrong? Or is this world living in a shadow of misconception?

This beauty is complex and hidden

Behind the shades of perfection; quite alluring

For something so rare and extremely fascinating

Pleasant to the eyes, could be deceptive

Isn’t this abstruse?

As for what I know,

There’s no beauty without ugly.

There’s no perfection without scars.

I believe that beauty really is

The darkness in pursuit of light,

Struggling to ascend and break the crust of paranoid thoughts

Beauty is indeed marvelous

But if it reminds you of pleasant things:

All shiny in stardust and glitters

Then, no.

This is not the beauty I perceive.

Not the beauty I seek.

-Shubhangi Rawat

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