Portrait of a Woman

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She laughs, she sings,

She fancies little things.

She whispers, she buzzes with the news.

She dances, settling things around.

She walks around, whining for attention.

She will sit, she’ll stand and strut.

 

Look into her eyes,

Is that disappointment there?

She dreams of weeping,

And yawning.

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Giving Chances

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Why do you hide under a veil?

When all you could be doing is soaring on your wings?

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Why do you reach for stars,

When all you could know is you have it in you to shine?

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Why age them in just peering through,

Those eyes, yours, shy like a virgin, which want to learn…

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The veil, that poor see through thing,

Are you letting it, or is it really caging you, against your will?

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Have they tied anklets around your feet,

In gold and silver that gleam but clang like cowbells?

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Tell me of your childhood, your real one.

Did you have a ‘gudda’* then, you loved to fondle around all day?

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You did, didn’t you? You loved him.

Then everything changed, when your childhood was taken from you.

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You were just told, what was right and wrong,

You just winked once and your lovebirds took off into the blue.

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Never you got to see them ever again,

Those mad birds, soaring high, higher than ever you’d flown your kite.

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Those disobedient little creatures,

But why aren’t you happy, that they’ve left you…?

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You must wonder where now they live,

Have they gone away far enough to live in some other world…?

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Those two eyes, two tiny little birds,

Must be wandering among all beautiful things, which you won’t know…

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Those obstinate, selfish birds, that live in dreams,

Ever wondered how they bless humanity every night? They hope for us.

 

 

 

 

 

Thrill of being Free

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Life is morose and life is dead,

Worries screaming in your head.

With lost hopes and all things worse.

 

From dawn to dusk,

Living and eating norms.

One smile, you wait, you die,

For a touch you’d fight and cry.

The sweet company that you crave,

Until freedom flies you to your nest.

 

Awkward first meetings around family and friends,

A stranger sits, trying to peep through your veil.

Cakes and cookies you never knew to make,

You put forward for your clients to take.

Furniture and cars accompany you to the grave,

In the baleful sound of trumpets you slowly break.

 

Thrill, you want when you step in the door,

Taking a hand and flowers on the floor.

Thrill is what you want all that first night,

Your stranger, for you, might not be right.

By the time morning leaves its shadowy cave,

You’re well into the unhappily married club.

 

There you wish that you were free,

Because there are sickles to your feet.

 

Or the thrill is when,

Zooming through posh streets late at night,

In the back seat of a little perky bike…

The air cool from late spring showers,

You throw your hands up in the air,

And leave the past with all its woes,

Behind.