Her visage might not be exquisitely embellished; encapsulated in rustically plaintive clothes from nimble foot; to insatiably sacrosanct forehead,
Her visage might not be ravishingly tantalizing; divinely meditating under the mystical oak tree; profusely blending every of its holistic element; with the spirit of the celestially divine,
Her visage might not be pompously flashy; bountifully coalescing with everlastingly exotic rudiments of nature; perennially entrenching itself with the winds of profoundly simplistic nostalgia,
Her visage might not be invincibly triumphant; inadvertently erring countless times in a single day; in her innocuously drifting stride,
Her visage might not be raunchily seductive; scintillating as unequivocally candidly as the flamboyantly sweltering Sun; filtering a path of unassailable righteousness; for infinite more births yet to come,
Her visage might not be overpoweringly dictatorial; retracting like a freshly nubile bride into the corridors of resplendent reticence; at even the most mercurial insinuation of ghastly badness or penalizing crime,
Her visage might not be aristocratically princely; harmoniously sequestering itself under an unfathomable blanket of green leaves; as its sole abode to lead
the uncouthly freezing night,
Her visage might not be astoundingly fragrant; onerously perspiring under the endlessly sweltering Sun; as she assiduously carved her way towards her daily livelihood,
Her visage might not be Omnisciently prognosticating; miserably dithering to perceive even an infinitesimal fraction of what was going to unfurl; an evanescent
step further,
Her visage might not be indefatigably twinkling; somberly enveloping its diminutive contours; in the fabric of unwittingly fallible humanity,
Her visage might not be tirelessly smiling; sporadically erupting into traumatically anguished cries; as the inevitability of sacrificing existence; took its insurmountably unbearable toll,
Her visage might not be ubiquitously magnanimous; insatiably confining herself to the realms of her parsimonious dwelling; stringently persevering every bit of her stingily hard-earned possessions,
Her visage might not be unrelentingly poignant; pragmatically bonding with the vagaries of this conventionally turgid society; in order to survive in holistic unison and symbiosis with the enchanting atmosphere,
Her visage might not be boundlessly unconquerable; humanely collapsing to the acrimoniously treacherous pressures of existence; at times feeling stressed beyond the threshold of inexplicably debilitating frustration,
Her visage might not be incomprehensibly magnetic; hardly being noticed a parsimonious trifle; even as she trespassed through the most
lackadaisically nonchalant of crowds,
Her visage might not be aristocratically regale; bearing the shades of a normally unwitting commoner; even as cloudbursts of untamed fantasy; handsomely perpetuated her from every construable side,
Her visage might not be unsurpassably contemporary; irrefutably following the fathomlessly medieval and age old theories of existence; while the entire planet
voluptuously gyrated to the rhythm of the blaring discotheque; by her window side,
Her visage might not be made for today's world; with even the most capriciously ephemeral mist of manipulation; remaining countless continents apart from
her; indomitably righteous stride,
And although not even a single tune of her visage coincided with the globe outside; not even a single entity acknowledged her the slightest for her little but hard-fought accomplishments in life; not even a single cloud noticed the innocent impressions which she had left on earth during the tenure of her lifetime,
There was something in her which I found in no other woman; caste or tribe; there was something in her which rendered every moment of my survival priceless;
there was something in her which heavenly blessed me even beyond my infinite lives; there was something in her which immortally became my love till even after my
journey to heaven; hell; my breath and time.
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