A woman is a revelation,
Not a retribution.
Hurt not the receptacle
In her flower of love,
Devour not her body
With eyes of lust.
Another day dawns
And another man is born.
Weary, oppressed and depressed,
She succumbs not to the destined
Trials and tribulations,
For, from baby to boy,
From boy to man,
Will all emerge from her lap.
Sometimes in reflective meditation,
At other times bereft of hope,
With the cosmos spinning around her, she thinks of the damages
Done by a desire,
Sprouting from preconceived notions
Or simply a genetic inheritance,
Which holds her besieged
In between his legs
While she battles in a futile effort
To set her dignity free.
However, unrepentant soul that she is,
She steals not bright objects
Like the magpie does
Or flagellating herself with her failures,
Or masochist, loving her wounds and blows,
She focusses on her monumental achievements,
Her magnum opus, that will reveal
Her true and naked self
For she is a revelation.