The Woman Who Surfed Big Waves

a free verse

She is from the land of zero where the sun takes a dip in the holy waters of fervent chants, like a biscotti in blistering chai that burns the tongue scolding its maker for too much sugar She is from the forgotten rosebuds between yellow shadows of curvy serifs aired with the incense of innocence - a book that had a period, abrupt, pregnant with spawns of anguish She is from the pickles of colorful languages that change at every green acre of pulses beating together to celebrate the changing seasons with highs and lows She is from hanging lanterns made from colored papers that wished good health before difficult goodbyes -left unsent, under the sheets of broken dreams She is from the blinking moments trapped in wooden frames holding grey strengths, ricocheting wishes — a stream that rebelled and wandered, but bubbled right back into the brine © M.D.B.