A woman

I am a woman.

A creation destined to create.

Magic with my hands that weave a poem and a sock.

Love with my eyes that seeps in your grief and ecstasy.

Life with my womb and heart that gives you a title or terror.

Songs with my tongue that surrenders your cruelty or boasts your justice.

Memories with my shadow that you fret at or yearn.

Contentment with my mind that intimidates or indulges your conversation.

But first, a soul that submits to your Creator and nothing else.

A woman,  the Creator blessed to share a lil of the journey of creating.

A man in a casket

Do you chose blindness as a curtain for that unbreakable heart of yours?

Or are you delusional to believe that you are not manly enough to own a vulnerable heart?

What has mirrors spoken to you so terribly that you often mask your sensitivity?

Or are you a coward to embrace arrogance as your armour?

Oh amor, let me hold you, and witness how there is nothing but a soul that rests in a casket that's carved by the mass.

While within rests a feather felt flesh that beats intensely while hugging a soul that was blown in by the Gentle and the Elegant.

(The image is of a collegue of mine and a beautiful picture captured by another collegue which i found to be so gentle and nice that it turned to be a muse for this poem.)

A poem. (It was hard)