Bright red scarf and an orange hat
Soft wrinkles, her lipstick’s red matte,
Crunching the leaves under her bicycle wheel
There she flies, without her veil.
That little wood bridge over the dull blue Spree
Can’t help but gleam with utmost glee
She peddles across as fast as she can
Dodging past tots as they ran.
One would ponder where is Mili
Is she hiding in the house down the gully?
Downtrodden, veiled, disgraced, no identity?
Still carrying the weight of guilt and self-pity?
A whiff of punk air, look she is there,
Escaped quell, opened threadbare,
Some years it took but so be it,
For now, she’s painting the wall bit by bit,
Beyond the canals and painted street,
Whizzes past the band who play Backstreet,
Fancying to live her youth again
Painting the picture sans, the pain.
Someone calls her name waving from the boat
Her lover waits in a bright pink coat,
She squeals with excitement in reply
There she flies, the Berlin Butterfly!
This post is written as the second in the series of A2ZChallenge 2019.