Prena Poetry

Maybe, she is young
but she is rather an antique vase;
fragile and held by a glue
because it once broke and couldn’t look beautiful.

Maybe, she is volumes of masterpiece
stapled together
with unread and unwanted thesis,
waiting to be forgotten and burned for good.

But don’t let them tell you
that she is just an unwary droplet.

She is an ocean.
And oceans have depths, discernments
and insanity
mankind can’t fathom.
She doesn’t await for change
she changes a world when she touch it.

Even if all she only wanted
was to be a part of that world
or be a small river flowing far away
without dream or a fear.

But she was born as an ocean.
A broken antique among the modern monuments,
confined in her own legacy.