That Woman, she!

ImageCourtesy: NJ Braso

ImageCourtesy: NJ Braso

It is the knit in that woman’s heart
that holds her hip together

the somewhat hurried yarn
going through the phases of her pain

It is the clumsiness of her own hands
that puts a smile before her sanity

those steps dazed with moonlight kiss
and a work of will

She makes no sounds except for her breath
that rubs shoulders with winds

and it is the curves on her back
that suffers her life’s pull

She sees beneath the piles of truth
that her existence is none tied to a man

She feels beyond those words
Love for one’s self begins it all

When she fills her throat with laughter
she floods the stench of grief away

not forgetting, no!
but shoving them past a fair grin

That woman…
she,
a flawed make of perfection.

(c) Naa Takia

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