Her Face Poem by Deb Panda

Its not her face appears-
A mortal mind sees thoroughly,
Though passing winter in an evening,
Through calling bells and praying.
All they made it stiff and hard-
To back into their momentum,
Like perching couples of snow-birds
Stored in a house of warm eyes,
Its not her face appears to eyes,
In clanging hurry of a mind,
Whose height touches the precious past-
And a smile would ever be her birthday.