The Rib's Riddle. Poem by M. Asim Nehal

They say once, in a moment divine,
God paused His grand design,
took a rib from a wandering man—
and sculpted a mystery no mind could scan.
not from his head, lest she rule too high,
nor from his feet, to be trampled nearby,
but close to his heart, beneath his arm—
a partner, ' He smiled, 'of equal charm.'
but man, poor soul, misunderstood the art,
for what was crafted was wit with a heart.
she spoke, she thought, she questioned, she knew—
a mirror, perhaps… but a sharper view.
their first meeting? Poetry in motion,
eyes like verses, hearts like an ocean.
he saw his rib and felt strangely whole,
she saw the man—and completed the soul.
then came vows, and rituals grand,
henna on fingers, rings on hand.
but somewhere between 'forever' and 'mine, '
began the unraveling of the divine design.
the rib found voice—oh, what a sound!
from whispers soft to echoes profound.
'What's this? Why that? You forgot again! '
thus began the age-old refrain.
each year that passed, like interest accrued,
the 'gentle reminder' subtly grew.
from a nudge… to a note… to a lecture full-blown—
the rib had evolved… a mind of its own.
some men, it's said, in fate's strange game,
received not one—but several the same.
two ribs walking, or three in debate,
a quartet, perhaps—arguing fate!
some stayed to manage this chorus of grace,
some fled, leaving echoes in place.
yet each would wonder, in quiet despair,
'How did one rib become this affair? '
and still God watches, silent, amused,
as mortals argue, confused and bemused.
they seek new ribs in shadows and lies,
unaware of the cost each borrowed piece implies.
for carrying another's rib, so light it may seem,
Is a burden wrapped in a beautiful dream.
It aches, it questions, it claims its due—
and mirrors the chaos you thought you outgrew.
so the wisdom remains—a riddle, a play,
not solved by night, nor answered by day.
Perhaps it was never meant to divide—
but to show man himself… from the other side.