The Woman In The Painting Poem by Yasmin Hemmat

In Florence, where the Renaissance did bloom,
Lived a woman, known for beauty rare,
In her father's home, she faced her doom,
A world distinct from the world of art and flair.

Her father, stern, yet knew what her heart desired,
To see beyond the city's ironed walls,
A woman bound by customs he required,
But her soul transcended ancient rituals.

She learned of science, philosophy's quest,
Her mind ablaze with thoughts of worlds beyond,
Yet marriage loomed, an ironclad request,
To keep her bound, her fate tightly confined.

On wedding day, she wore a veil of white,
Her heart was heavy, but her spirit strong,
To face the life now set before her sight,
Her dreams of freedom hidden in a song.

As she lived under her husband's strict reign,
The fiend seized her solace and her hope,
The art within her bloomed despite the pain,
In silent reverie, she learned to cope.

A painter roamed through Florence one soft day,
He asked to depict the beauty of her face,
To paint her visage where dancing shadows play,
And glimpse the soul she wore like silky lace.

Her life's sad tale transformed to art's embrace,
The painting held her spirit, her dreams, her fears,
Her secrets locked within the canvas' grace,
The woman, Mona Lisa, veiled in years.

Now, her story lingers, haunting hearts with praise,
The woman in the painting's enigmatic gaze,
Her timeless charm enchants the viewer's eyes,
And a sad mysterious smile on her lips beguiles.