Woman, in this
Plain and humdrum existence
Do you have to paint
Yourself a flourish?
Woman, in this
Verve of the smitten stars
And the waxing moon
Do you have to croon
The language of eloquence?
Dashing feet astride?
Calloused hands caressing the flame,
Woman tell me,
Do you have to?
Breathe
And let the wind that
Rummages upon you
In an efflux of blood
Take over what marvels
We have become.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem