Tambola!

All she wore was her skin,
Her dazzling crown was celestial.

She moved her fingers pointing upwards,
Very frequently, rapidly, in vehement patterns
Like deciphering musical notes from ancient leaves.
As if the sky was soon about to rot & push the stars to fall
And she could find no time to count them then
When some of them kill the light of her crown
So that she could not see any more of them.

The darkness of the night was stark,
Silently she remembered the numbers.

If any math could have run the world, she could win.
She could have boogied them to ride the world’s longest train,
Running the seven seas & thirteen rivers, galloping the last mountains;
Nobody could notice her, could have had sex with her,
She could not be loved or lusted to hell,
All she could be like the passing breeze,
Such was the power of her magic numbers!

She danced in her garden of numbers,
Till she could die in her abacus school.