An ice-queen I love!
The moon will be abashed, the sun ashamed,
If on such a day I fail to open my floodgates and scribble this confessional melody.
Every morning, as mist is swept away and dawn is spread across the mountains,
These mornings, her steps trample the ground in hurried fashion,
Paces accustomed to vision and focus!
From distant safeness, my gaze captures her frame swaying away like a hut in the wind,
To where? I wonder!
For sure dusk will find me in my usual post of watch,
Awaiting the replenishing sight of she as she trods back.
I speak of none but of a ship that secretly trades her wares in my waters of infatuation,
All that swims the path of the seas of passion, in mine they desist,
For she alone I let!
This African W.O.M.A.N I so drool!
Yet, the smile of a stone!
Warmness by her is a dead valley, for she is an ice-queen!
As heat is reduced by the shadow of a cloud, so the expressions of suitors her way are stilled by she!
Even the islands in the sea are terrified at her very presence!
For a long time I have seized my tongue,
My throat is an open grave of words that have never been born!
But now, like a woman in childbirth, I cry out, I gasp and pant,
Not of painful groaning!
Rather with a string instrument and composed cords to charm.
Likened to a sword polished to consume,
A sharpened tongue I put to use,
And string my heart and brace for her.
With soothing such as never been witnessed in old and never will it be in ages to come,
Ask her to let me lead her, guide her by ways not known to her along unfamiliar paths.
Roam these flourished lands alongside me.
Put my craze to the womb of breeding and deliver me a queen to treasure.
If on such a day I fail to open my floodgates and scribble this confessional melody.
Every morning, as mist is swept away and dawn is spread across the mountains,
These mornings, her steps trample the ground in hurried fashion,
Paces accustomed to vision and focus!
From distant safeness, my gaze captures her frame swaying away like a hut in the wind,
To where? I wonder!
For sure dusk will find me in my usual post of watch,
Awaiting the replenishing sight of she as she trods back.
I speak of none but of a ship that secretly trades her wares in my waters of infatuation,
All that swims the path of the seas of passion, in mine they desist,
For she alone I let!
This African W.O.M.A.N I so drool!
Yet, the smile of a stone!
Warmness by her is a dead valley, for she is an ice-queen!
As heat is reduced by the shadow of a cloud, so the expressions of suitors her way are stilled by she!
Even the islands in the sea are terrified at her very presence!
For a long time I have seized my tongue,
My throat is an open grave of words that have never been born!
But now, like a woman in childbirth, I cry out, I gasp and pant,
Not of painful groaning!
Rather with a string instrument and composed cords to charm.
Likened to a sword polished to consume,
A sharpened tongue I put to use,
And string my heart and brace for her.
With soothing such as never been witnessed in old and never will it be in ages to come,
Ask her to let me lead her, guide her by ways not known to her along unfamiliar paths.
Roam these flourished lands alongside me.
Put my craze to the womb of breeding and deliver me a queen to treasure.
I love this one right here. I feel like there's a little part of me in this.
ReplyDeleteOneSuperwoman, you are an ice queen?
ReplyDeleteShe is my alter ego.
ReplyDelete