In depths of the valley of the soul

Where the stream of thoughts fiercely flows,

An untamed spirit magnificently roams.

She has never been 

The world’s most favorite girl. 

And neither does she aimed

For being the dearest one.

They search for her in gardens 

Full of exquisite roses.

Barely do they know her,

For she belongs to rocky hillsides,

Throughout the desert,

In barren washes.

Don’t come closer,

For you’ll bleed.

Her flowers are prickles,

That you don’t desire.

Inside her veins,

Run the Cactus Blood.

She retains an aura, 

Of mystery and love.

So beautiful

And so full of spines.

Her language is that of

Thorns and spikes. 

She creates a beauty

Of another kind.

A sharp, piercing side of dreams 

Beyond the moonlight. 

Strong and fierce,

She knows how to survive the rough.

Powerful as the ocean,

All about gales and storms.

Crowned with flames, 

Under the tubercular sky,

She burns…