They love her from far
“Oh! That must be so pure”
But what is it they love so
Is what she is not so sure.
They love her shadow
They love her image
And its all cooked up
By their mind and craze.
She is not a decorated doll
Beautiful and totally lifeless
She is life itself, bubbling with it,
With all its beauty and ugliness.
She is not a goddess – so perfect
Calm and faultless all the time
They might want to worship her
But she does not care a dime.
She is not heartless and
She does not want to be rude
But in their ‘heavenly’ thoughts
How is she to get a reality so crude?
Those flowers are lying there
In the balcony, behind her room
They offer it to a goddess of their dreams
And hence she can not love them.