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Poem

Woman flows like a river.
As the each drop of the water
Joins with the river, 
With the variation of the
Colour in it’s combination, 
The wonts and passions
Shapes her.
The new saplings
That flow from the
Inhalation of woman
Just similar to
The birds and plants
Forms from the breath
Of the nature.
Like the small particle of soil
And the rough, tough
And hard rock
That exist against the river
In it’s path of happiness, 
Stalemate and hardship
Covers and efface her.
When she tries and succeeds
To counter attack all her obstacles.
In a way a child splinter flowers
She is being spoiled
But by a brutish heart.
Her ruin is etched
On the core of her bosom
As the greatest waterloo
In her womanhood.
The womanly wealth
That she was being weaving
With gentle golden
And silver threads has lopped.
The placidly glowing eyes
and the churned heart
had been eradicated.
Even the resistance
Remains in her eyes, 
Even the will of return
Lasts in her face, 
Even the hope of tomorrow
Reverberate in her lips, 
Her womanly lilt of life
Hidden in the cloud melted down
And ragged like the leaf
That fall on the sharp thorns.

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