She’s a Woman, a Woman is She by Moitreyee Raju

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Her curvaceous physiognomy 

a subtle coalescence 

of eternally seasoned thoughts.

Being anatomically vivacious

from time immemorial…

she evokes the strength 

of the mighty Niagara Falls!

When the storm comes a calling

Her nuanced curves solidify 

to become that majestic fulcrum. 

Yet isn’t it burlesque

that her body is a recurrent toast,

for the toast makers of the social crest?

She’s a woman, a woman is she!

The sole lighthouse

of her turbulent sea!

Often,

when she cups her face in her hands

and looks out of the window

at the stylized horizon,

where earth and the sky

become one in holy matrimony,

But Sisyphean is the task

to sense that sublime beauty,

’cause bursting in its seams

is that squinted sarcasm,

her obsidian eyes for once speak…

a lie, all such a lie!

The magma within has cooled,

her body now an igneous rock 

well versed  with the covenant dictates of the world…

that the lava must flow

to satiate the orgasmic hunger of this universe!

She’s a woman, a woman is she!

The sole lighthouse 

of her turbulent sea!

At home her cut glass frame

is carefully placed  in a pedestal,

lest it breaks!

That squinted sarcasm 

always returns,

to haunt her, to grope her;

“A lie, all such a lie!”

Her visage, a beautiful fresco,

her innards, the Louvre,

her heart often screams..

“I am an artist…

I wanted to be an artist!”

(Is there no one who can dare 

to give her that fair share

of esteem that we all care?)

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