How do you understand a woman?
from the beatific calm of her voice draped in love,
the whelming rush of glee in a wife satisfied,
or from the soothing aura of maternal mildness?
Is it from the rigid fiber of leniency
grafted in her very being at inception?
or from her form as the roses in purple,
mesmerizing, glistening as the rainbow after rain?
Like all flesh – vulnerable,
she sighs, she cries,
yet, how do you understand her
from the burden of bane and betrayal oozing with rage
or the sour smiles that spring from nostalgia of painful past?
Who understands the feisty parades of potent passion
disinterred at the altar of pleasures?
the frailty of her temper and temperament
or the gust of certain madness summoned
by masculine ruse and naivety?
The woman:
so subtle, sweet and strange;
of divine distinction yet, so deadly to genes
whose intentions belittle and beguile with flattery.
Her arms are as the Nile,
heart as the Pacific with tenderness and warmth
yet so tough, so frail, so clandestine to a fault.
The woman,
not by enthralling bold bosom,
nor by paths to ecstasy that lie between-behind,
not by feline hips that sway,
nor by goodly looks that slay
is a sheer portrayal of her spawned.
Not by her strolls nor by her poise
not by all of these alone is she known
lest, one is of men a deluded dark shell
whose Sun rises from the West.
The woman:
Wonderful
Ornament of
Mystery;
Admirable
Novelty
Who nurtures existence from within
and with the milk of life
preserves the myths of men.
If the consonants and vowels,
the rhymes and rhythms of words
suffice to explain the woman,
history becomes a worthy ally to reveal her truth
But the woman is a world unknown,
recondite, a deep soul like an infinite abyss
and to comprehend her is to unravel God.
=-= Copyright 2018 Michael Olajubu =-=
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