It was men’s imagination that made her look good
Beauty and zealousness praised
From tongues blinded by exquisiteness,
by overactive thoughts –
A tribute to the maiden’s generosity.
I say, the world has an enormous
space for hypocrites
“Her looks deceiving yet has served
as refuge to the dying. Golds, jewels,
coins strewn all!”
was that old tale tainted
by deluded craftsmanship.
Their mouths’ ink left her incarcerated.
I say, they like
the silence of her mouth
That her life must’ve spent
in solitude, covering truth.
‘Mother nature’ is an inapt term.
Heavy smoke of morning dew
kept her away from what she can.
I say, this is the real story:
In prairies, evergreen field
She is a tigress
Tellers of her tales are the hunters
Who crave meat, to eat and beat
Whose hands and monstrous palms
see no good in her
For which she can’t give something
in return will step and ravish
Her long-time home.
But in a foliage of air, she runs away
What she cannot say, whisper and shout
She now does.
Maria, which skin shrinks in glow
Which ages, almost to extinction
not only waits, not always giving.
A clean slate never soiled again.
In her deep fit of vengeance