Since time immemorial human beings have used different means for communicating and expressing their feelings. Speech has been the most common form of communication. But not everyone is able to express themselves through speech. So, they choose other creative ways of expression. Every person has their own unique way of truly expressing themselves. Whether it be through body movements, painting, singing, writing or speaking.

Magic they say lies in ones own soul. It finds it's way into ones depths and roots itself. It springs to life through the land of passions and never does it die or fade away. Magic to Scar meant everything. Her green eyes reminding one of the forest. Her lilt movements reminding one of the ocean. Her petite form always captivated attention. She was not a warrior but a fiery red headed witch. Healing was her strength and yet she was called Scar. She was a wanderer, always searching to give herself to others. Her services were free and selfless. And yet she felt so empty on the inside. There was a part of her that always yearned for something. Longing to be filled yet she ignored it, never tending to her own needs. She was but a fire. By burning herself she gave warmth to others. And ruined those who tried to get too close or demanded too much. She was but a fallen angel and yet so high above the heavenly ones.

Flickering fire flames, Tempest reaching it's peak, The nature plays it's payback games, The forest lets out a hunted shriek, The eerie sounds accelerate even the bravest heartbeats, Uneven roads, no paved streets, Draped in her thin blanket she rests, All her memories she collects, The winds howl, And flies away the owl, It pours and pours, The green eyed oak wavers, A final crying kiss, Springing out of this deep abyss, Another world destroyed, Another void, But life goes on, Another story, another once upon...

The fire was flickering. The storm outside was very strong. The old oak tree outside the house was shaking vigourously. It was the same tree she used to sit beside when she was a mere child. She vividly remembers reading and writing under the shade of that tree. Infact, her first ever written work was inspired from it. It taught her to appreciate art. She learned to admire herself and her art, her passions under the gaze of that very tree. Whenever she used to feel depressed and there was no one to hold her, it became her strength. She used to hug it and feel the love that a child receives from her mother. Today as she lay down snuggled up in her thin blanket all the memories came running back. Her life reflected itself in the mirror of her eyes. As she travelled through her memory lane, her coffee mug lay empty on the bedside. The shards of glass were splattered all over the floor. Her messily braided hair were brushing her cheeks slightly. She looked like a worn out fox with silver eyes. A proud fox who lived her life all alone in the forest serving and receiving from the woods- her only home, her safe place. And with a single howl of the wind it was all over. Her fire died. The rise and fall of her breasts stopped. The thoughts, the memories, everything came to a still end. But the sound of the running water and the creaking chair continued. The noises remained but nobody was there to listen to them. They were the voices of her silence. A final crying kiss for her longing soul. It rained. And what was left behind was just her memories and the green eyes of the watching oak filled with tears. No human may ever remember her but the oak tree that saw a life sprout and grow will always remember.

The gusty wind brushes my hair, It hugs me running chills down my spine, The sunlight seeps through the window, It kisses my cheeks with just a slight stroke, As I Debus it awaits me, The scattered stones on the ground as if abandoned by it, Forbidden to taste it's fruit, The trees firm and rooted, They sway as if disapproving my presence, The cascading liquid pours like never before, It accepts it's wrath with arms wide open, It receives me cooling my nerves, The sparks ignite and it thunders, Let the thoughts run wild and be my muse, As I make love to you, For the river is my heart, And it's water my lover, This autumn afternoon let me rekindle my emotions, Let the pain fade away and the scars show my strength, Let the fears flee, Let me own my demons and burn them in my fires of hell, Let my angels fly high and the heaven consume them, Let me create my abode, my home, Not in the good, not in the bad, But in what I desire, Let this river be my mirror, And let me be the reflection of what's meant to be, Like it's water let my passions flow, Let the torrents of my mind produce hurricanes...

Morning mist soothing my feet, On the soft grass, over the hills and the mountains, The ocean waves singing sweet melodies, The sandy lanes shimmering under the gaze of the warm sun, The pitter patter of rain while the sky makes love to the land from afar, Brewing coffee and the scent of petrichor, Words floating all around, Buried inside books, Away from the voices of my monsters, Leaving this crowded city, Far from the penetrating eyes of the society, Lost in my own world, Surrendering to the jewels of nature, Searching for my neverland, Among meadows and plains, In the lavenders of my heart, Where serenity rules and peace prevails, It is the place I so deeply desire, Find me my wonderland, And lull me to sleep...