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Psychologically speaking, women are snakes and men are mice,
In the ancient theater of the world, where masks fall and rise in dance,
She, the slithery queen of untold stories, an endless paradox,
With a glance that untethers ships from their moors, in a sea without driftwood, without sails.
Beneath the suave murmur of her hypnotic violin, almost inaudible amongst the buzz of the scene,
Masterfully crafted undulations, through a curtain of deep, unfathomable mysteries,
Alluring in her eternal enticement, with whispers spreading divine inner deceptions,
Threaded along the fine string of the night, playing on the sensitive chord of a forever starving heart.
He, prey to an instinct too often defeated by endless scrutiny,
The mouse, a twitching silhouette amongst shadows, a knight of frailty,
Carving a path through crevices of reality, in search of his shooting star of cheese,
Towards which he sails, enchanted by the siren's song, on an ocean of uncertainties.
They are the timekeepers of our destinies, ticking away in contradictory symphonies,
Each with their solitude, each with their threads of fate and dreaming,
Setting the trap and becoming our own prey, in a game of divinity,
From ages to ages, one lending the other venom and antidote in the same cup.
Until the stars shall wipe away from the sky, and the Moon shall mute with fear,
The duel continues, between the secret magic and the unexpected murmur,
She, breathing her spells of love into night garments sewn with silver,
He, finding his way through the crevices of the day, with hopes like a spider's thread clinging.
And yet, is not love the greatest enigma in this strange tableau?
The woman-snake and the man-mouse, opposites and yet complements,
Catching in-flight the reversal of roles, where the snake is the one who forgives and the mouse protects,
In the jungle of emotion, where instinct becomes the guide and the fearful conquer, merely with the power of the heart to love.
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