Women Of Troy (Love Story) Poem by Mohammad Yousef

In the shadow of ancient walls,
where whispers of battle still linger,
the Women of Troy weave their tales,
each thread a heartbeat,
each knot a memory,
intertwined with the scent of smoke
and the salt of tears.

They stand, fierce and resolute,
against the backdrop of war,
their eyes aflame with the fire of defiance,
and yet, tender with the weight of love,
love for brothers, fathers,
and sons lost in the cruel embrace of fate,
love for men wrapped in armor,
whose hearts beat like drums
in the symphony of siege.

Hecuba, queen of sorrow,
her hands, calloused yet gentle,
gathers her daughters close,
her voice a lullaby over the chaos,
"Hold tightly to your dreams, my children,
for even the strongest stone
can be worn smooth by the river of longing."

Cassandra, with visions like lightning,
futures unspooled before her,
a heart heavy with foreknowledge,
she cries out against the tide,
"Love is a war of its own,
fought in the silence of shared glances,
in the flicker of a candle's flame,
and in the echoes of unspoken words."

And then there's Andromache,
whose love for Hector is a rose
growing in the cracks of despair,
her laughter a fragile melody,
lost amidst the clamor of clashing swords,
"Even in the face of death,
our hearts shall dance,
for love is the armor we wear
against the darkness."

Amidst the chaos,
the women gather,
their voices rising like smoke,
a chorus of resilience,
each story a thread in the tapestry,
each loss a brushstroke
on the canvas of their lives.

They remember the whispers of youth,
the stolen kisses beneath the olive trees,
the promises made under the stars,
when love was a fragrant bloom,
untouched by the bitterness of betrayal,
and the shadow of a wooden horse.

Yet, in the heart of destruction,
love persists,
like the stubborn wildflowers
that push through the rubble,
each petal a testament to endurance,
each bloom a declaration:
"We are more than victims,
we are the architects of our fate,
the keepers of our flame."

As the city crumbles,
and the cries of the fallen fill the air,
the Women of Troy stand tall,
their spirits untamed,
weaving love into the fabric of history,
for in every heartache,
in every shattering moment,
they find the strength to love again,
to rise from the ashes,
reborn in the light of passion,
a love story etched in time,
echoing through the ages,
as eternal as the stars
that watched over them,
unblinking,
unwavering,
holding their secrets,
like a mother holds her child,
with fierce love,
and an unbreakable bond.