Monday, 21 May 2018

Color me woman


In the beginning i was man
Rigid in form, insipid and stagnant

The creative spirit dreaded this life lackluster
It commanded the earths to form a greener pasture

The heavens opened up to wetten fertile grounds
Lightning struck, skies lit up and filled with lively sounds

I witnessed a rainbow when colors emerged
Grey skies gone, a new dawn for mother earth

... And then there was woman
life spark from my mundane program

Humanity is indebted to the spirit of femininity
We beg forgiveness and intervention of divinity

She makes provisions of love, care, peace and happiness
She Keeps giving without receiving, such immanence!

She copiously pours herself out for the world to quench
She rejuvenates them yet she is condemned as the vanquished

Smiles her troubles away for she knows her value and self worth
Warmly embraces pain and suffering to heal the hurt

She is the embodiment of the Supreme spiritual laws
I am unworthy of her presence with my physical flaws

I will remain incomplete until we are in yoke
My open heart was naive and gullible until my mind awoke

Color me woman because i am as i was in the beginning
I am the fluid creative spirit of this Aquarius Era that's burgeoning!

14/20.05.18, 00:30.

Thursday, 10 May 2018

Fictional realism.

Up at night, reading her profound thoughts she impressed some time ago

She is a beautiful thinker, easy and effortless. I wonder if she knows how beautiful she is.

I know she doubts her talents. I don't even know how she let me into her universe.
A moth to a flame, I'm just dancing around her fire. It sizzles. Never burnt. So I learnt. Timid to engage her passion, for it might fizzle.

The pain she expresses is a mask for joy that's yearning to be uncovered. She feels dead when she is so alive, says pain has numbed her. Immune to hurt. Desensitized to heartbreak. Potential beauty untapped. How could I spark her to self? Her mind overwhelms me. Lost, she's flame. I'm just a moth.

They say women who live in their heads, have an unoccupied heart for a big man to fill up. I feel small. Does she even notice my existence?

She is too good for this pretentious world. So she plays small to fit in. A goddess that assimilated pain so she can relate to mere mortal souls . The beauty that feigned ugliness.

I don't even write like this, I read her mind. Up late nights. Characters in her pages. Figment of my imagination?