Happy Woman


 

She is the one whose hazel coloured eyes lights up a dull gathering,
She is the one who proudly flaunts are not so galant wedding ring,
She is the one who sees everything in red but yet calls it green.

 

She is the one who frolics to music while driving in traffic,
She is the one while everyone is whinning holds a smile that is so graphic,
She is the one who makes every little trivial moment feel like magic.

 

She is the one who despite all the anguish still tends to make you laugh,
She is the one who provides you with little rather than make you starve,
She is the one who with humble beginnings treats you with class.

 

She is the one who twirls to nothing and it becomes music that makes you dance,
She is the one who amidst all chaos will risk everything to give you a chance,
She is the one who is married to a strange and bitter man but yet adores him like she were in a trance.

 

dido 4 eva

happy woman

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Lonely Woman


lonely womanNow I bear a sickly face,
And in his arms have I found no grace,
He leaves me every morning in a sadden daze,
And I finally accept my lonely place.

He treats me with disdain even in my weaken state,
And I truly wonder if indeed he is my blessed mate,
He chides and mocks me not knowing my future fate,
Not minding that this sickness might make me late.

I am looked upon with sadness and pity,
Whisperings of a woman treated like an abandoned kitty,
Yet I am but a woman, a wife, a mother who needs only to be smitten,
But all he does is leave me bitten.

This sickness will not be my end,
This sickness will not make me bend,
He will see me someday has a friend,
That he needs always treat like a fern.

dido 4 eva

Foolish Woman


foolish womanIt’s easy when it’s not your life,
It’s different when you find yourself with love and strife,
Waking up every morning to a man who loves you not,
And yet he always leaves you in a draught.

Early tales of love so sweet,
Promises that now seem so bleak,
He hardly holds you while you sleep,
And barely touches you while praying and his fingers slip.

To have and to hold, for rich or for poor,
Those vows said for those that go to war,
Now hunts her soul and makes her mourn,
For the love that’s gone and so forlorn.

No friend or foe to smile or cry with,
No bird or tree to share a little wit,
Except the child she bore in blood,
Can she share her falling flood.

She cowers in corners afraid and lost,
When she should have being basking in love,
In her pain and joy she stands alone,
And visits no grudge upon his home.

For him she has shed some blood not once,
The first in form of a child, the second was a waste of chance,
A life of misery that knows all sorrows,
A story unending that will have more tomorrows.

He who has an ear, they say let him hear,
And she who cannot hear, let her to the sea be bare,
For it be better to drown in fear,
Than to live one’s life in love so unfair.

dido 4 eva

Heartless Woman


heartless womanI stand up and sight her,
Is it a dream or is she really by a stream,
I see her hands are curled up in blood,
I listen for her heart but palpitations I do not hear.

Streaks of dried tears trail her ruddy cheeks,
She speaks not, for her lips are sealed,
She looks so rigid by the flowing water,
For the knees on which she has knelt does not shake.

Her skin so pale it tells another tale,
Her hair so thick that the locks do not stray,
Her pose so strained and yet fragile she remains,
Her clothes withered and torn like feathers.

Why does this once olive-skinned woman not talk,
Why is it she does not move,
Closer I go to give her a dodge,
And there in her hands I sight her bleeding and once beating heart.

Plight of a Virtuous Woman of Substance


Woman, dear feeble, quiet, honest and blessed woman,
The mind is wrought with the plight of her,
She is labored and weighed down from within,
But does she cry, NO! She becomes stronger.

She toils, she feeds, she bleeds, she weeps,
Yet she mourns, she groans, she whines and she clamps,
She is deity, she is nymph, she is Delilah, she is gift,
She but bears the weight of the bereaved.

At the morn, she is at the coal, at the noon she is at the field,
At the eve, she is at the dishes, at the night she is at the slander,
At the twilight she is at his bequest, waiting for a night of rest,
This woman weary and angry so, calms her nerves and blesses us all.

She is at her knees praying for the man, she is on the phone asking for his toll,
She is at the yard holding his sole, she is at His throne defending his soul,
She is on the bed wailing in pain, she is beside herself with tears of babies bawling.

At her desk she worries for him, on the move she is weary of him,
At his request she is quiet within, at her time she is broken down within,
By her side the world kept warning, in her heart she heard is calling,
In this era there is no knowing, if she will live or die a-walking

Her heart is open knowing no folly, her mind is up shielding all stories,
She bares the scars, the seen and the hidden,
She holds her sides and watch the mockingbird sail lowly,
She lays awake in the midst of all sleeping,
She is awash with shame at no tender blessing.

She stays submissive with a smile alluding to nothing cruel but all amusing,
This is the theme of all that comes from man and groin in passion astounding,
She tends her sores without begrudging, that the man she loves is all but caring,
There is reason for that which is taunting.

This is the tale of the woman and her heart in waiting,
This is the canvas by which we have being designed,
This is our lot in things dark and fair, this is our stance for all that is unclear,
For herself she knows no glory, for her man she upholds his glory.

credendo vides “by believing one sees”