A thing of beauty

A woman is at her prettiest...

Not when she grows from a child and steps into her teens
Understanding in the process what being a woman means

Not when she matures into full blown adulthood
And makes every guy on the street turn his head

Not even on the day when her betrothed's hand she holds
And dazzles everyone with the beauty she beholds

A woman as at her prettiest...

When she walks slowly holding up her chin
Burdened by the little life she carries within

I Don't have the time any more

Another time, another place,
I would listen to all those carefully,
Who want to tell me, their tales of woe.
Taking every word to my heart,
Absorbing every surreptitious whisper into my soul,
Even though I knew, they would probably never do the same with me.

Another day, another year,
I would indulge all those unthinkingly,
Who want me to put aside what I am doing, and play ball with them.
Striving every step of the way,
Giving every iota of the pleasure of my company,
Even though I knew, they might never be around when I feel alone.

Another hour, another age,
I would go all out to build a relationship,
Even with those, who didn't really deserve a second chance.
Overlooking their annoying idiosyncrasies,
Ignoring their inability to rise above the ocassion,
Only because, I was attracted to a positive aspect or two in them.

No more! I don't want to deal with people,
Who never make the first move.
Who refuse to let go of their prejudices.
Who misunderstand my passion as a hoax to get attention.
Who would live and die in their self-created cocoons of spurious security.

I am sick of the Cindrellas, waiting to be discovered.
I am angry at the bigotry, of the disguised Khomeinies.
I have given up on the Freuds, who think they know me better than myself.
And, I am tired of entertaining overgrown kids....