A woman,
When melding under the liquid moon,
She breaks in a peal of laughter.
A man,
When breaking over a day gone too soon,
He resigns in a bed of somber.
And a woman,
When prancing upon grasslands,
The flowers pry upon her silken feet
Hence the man,
When facing the prattling tongue of a snake,
His body, marshy in the mire of flourishing deception.
When the waves caress,
The skin of a woman, it undresses her,
Flamboyantly showing the fertility of her femininity
In return, when the waves crash,
Against a man's stern virility,
It rips through his body of brittle bones.
It is in the woman's mirth,
That a man learns to weep, crying an ocean,
Consuming the world's jocund girth
Why does the blithe face of a woman,
Start such prowling bliss from within,
Compared to a man, denied like sins?
To exude such patrician strut, a woman can,
Yet in times of triumph, a man must remain humble
In both poles, he is still deemed ignoble
Why such content in the augur y of luster?
Alongside an implication that a man rusts faster,
Endowed with such blunted features..
Alas, then God must have slept
When all the men wept, eyes in a hazy downpour;
Ah and yes, women.. Crafted by strict hands.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem