Eisa S.M.

A Ballet Dancer

Painting the orchestra’s rhymes with her essence as she spins and twirls,
Each stroke delicate and graceful,
As if polishing the conductor’s masterpiece,
 
A star in her prime, she is alien to supernovas,
Allowed to roam freely, though core at the centre,
While the newly formed moons orbit her,
Beautified by her.
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