Like the aroma of a favourite ointment,
Or the food newly presented.
Is the feeling I savour deep within,
As I celebrate with weird virtues.
Who knows if it can be weaved into a dream
To portray the passion of perception of life.
Yet without words to say and with no actions displayed,
I trace to find the space of joy.
Warming myself with flanks of greetings
That soothes the calibre of my work given;
For without a stare which I find rare,
The composure of my being in Limelight haven.
The thoughts, gist of those who speak about me,
Seems to rate the peak of success around me.
Celebrating with all that I’ve got,
As I share the spoils of what I’ve brought.
Still the peace of what’s is left
Is the untold history of me in mystery.