Her genesis is that of toes kissing dust, shoes
decomposed as rust.
As a soloist , feeding her infants is a must. Faith
in a male figure twisted her trust, wetening her
Ruth loyal eyes. Is hope that eroded from the
past? Her strength purified stubborn draught with
eternal rain, its funny how even from the ones
she idolised a stone was cast.
She either fabricated a special cloth for scars
or can take the cut. Considering how she took
the needle and thread , mended her heart
proving she can do what other woman
Her homestead mannerism remain still,
hoping her other half has something
to fill. Slowly picking up the beans
he spilled , consecutively crying
herself to sleep.
Poverty flooding her rooftop-provoking her silent scream.
She recovers from un-climbable peaks
buying her a resolute dream-
that in every orga lives a beautiful
fairy, that even sour
milk can give the richest
Leaving the ground beneath her feet
believing weeping is for the weak.
Now all that remain is blood stains
and cracked amour of motherhood’s
A glimpse of her holy mind that led
to a successful yet impossible
exosism and acceptance of being
a life sentenced jail bird in Eve’s
For Adams of these times abandon
their responsibilities for the
leisure of living.
The entire moral of the
journey- how gifted they
can be at deceiving but at
Its women’s strength to
manage the ground beneath
their feet that God finds
A friend of mine Percy Thomas- an amazing poet- and I merged minds and bonded through writing this piece.
Thank you for the ink Perc:)!