You, monumental, pose inside the portrait,
In figure of a pyramid
Construed to be elite
Your right hand, rest above your left hand,
Hints that you're a virtuous woman,
With those slightly sullen arms,
I can tell, that you are pregnant,
Only to remind me, how powerful woman can be
As the carrier of humanity,
And that hermaphroditic posture advocates
A better balance gender,
A softer male and a stronger female,
In the midst of dreamy scene you are in,
What baffled me is your mysterious stare,
I know you have some secrets that you veiled.
They are perhaps as dark as your tunic,
Maybe as complicated as your plated dress,
And as intricate as circles patterned in your vest,
But your luminous skin revealed to me something
Of your resemblance to the phases of the moon.
New, half, full and new again
You are a girl, a woman,
And soon will be a crone,
They call you Lisa, yet you really are nameless,
You are in truth a woman, who is endless,
You always die and again always sprout back,
In each rebirth is an additional wisdom.
You are indeed older than the background
In which you are located,
And now at last I know your secret!
Your mystic smile is an expression
of the past time's foolishness.