A Warrior's Songs

Feminine

Like the joy of season's first rain,
like the melody of a cuckoo's song,
like the trickle of a small stream,
Her voice echoes and fills happiness,
even in the most barren hearts.
She is a female infant.

She is as delicate as dew drops,
as free as a feather could be,
She fills delight and energy
in all her relatives' existence.
She is a little girl.

She grows up, like a little bud does,
She seeks care and love from her kin,
like it needs them from the Cosmos,
She needs all you can provide her with.
She is a teenage girl.

She is as cheerful as the Spring,
She blossoms and flourishes,
her wings growing, her emotions too,
which she barely knows how to handle.
She is a young woman.

Life throws at her problems and stress,
family changes, responsibilities add in,
Yet, she is as caring as the Earth
and also as nourishing and homely.
She is the embodiment of patience.
She is the personification of sacrifice.
She is an adult woman.

Years pass by, seasons change,
the world goes round and round,
Still, She is as loving as a child,
As fresh as a newly bloomed lily.
Soon, though She crumbles down
into pieces of Earth,
She leaves her amazing legacy behind.
She is an old woman.

She is now dead.
She is not different from Mother Earth, as rightly said.

Then why? Why do we look down upon her? Why do we not care?
Why is her birth a shame, rather a celebration of splendid glory?
Why is she, the weak one?
Why is she, the one's who's molested?

Speak, Oh Mankind, Speak the truth,
Shudder to think of a world without her.
Think of your crimes against Her, of the disgrace you've attached to her pure soul.

For life without her heavenly presence, is but death and desert combined.
She is the Almighty's gift.
She is the incarnation of Heaven.
For She is Feminine.