The woman

I had a trauma,
With sudden shudder on my shoulder,
To unlearn the ways
That I have come.

It went on orphaning me,
While she tried to pacify me
With soothing whispers: "everything will be alright"
It is only her whom I loved the most.
She is a woman after all.

Does she represent something?
The failure of myself,
To understand and be with her,
When she represented 'the other half of us men'.

She was lame, without lightning beauty,
Among the commoners.
And, dark among peacekeepers,
Hard among real steel,
Mad in the reasoned and the seasoned.
She was working.

Nobody noticed her much,
In the pursuit of happiness,
That was so difficult to unlearn.
Neither did she care in those days.

I happened to read the news.
Still, it bruise my thought.

I have seen her.
Yawning, she walked alone the streets,
The straight but narrow ones.
Pawned that all she had,
Tried to live her dream.

It wasn't easy at all,
For  the girl, who cannot even stand on her legs.
She never committed any sin,
To be left alone.

It was those stray dogs,
Accompanied her in lone walks,
With winged swords side by side,
And a dreamt bone piece in their stomach.

She screamed aloud.
Shakespeare did not hear it.
Meanwhile they thought it is better than
Beethovan's fifth symphony.

"She is brings smile in her beauty,
Even heavens do fall for her."
Poets got accolades,
Artists became immortal,
Musicians drew others envy,
And men became blind in the 're-creation'.

I have a trauma,
With sudden shudder on my shoulder,
To unlearn the ways
That I have come,
And the ways I admire the woman.