Women
are beaten—
sometimes to death—
writing poetry.
A husband
maybe brother
reads her emotion
spilling on the page
sees passion
for a hidden lover.
Her burqa not enough
to shield her
for being
raven tresses
green eyes
able to weaken
almost any man
desiring
what moves beneath
the red parahaan.
Just out of reach
she rubs against silk and satin
turning inward to speak
of loneliness.
I am not a silent poet 
Reblogged this on reubenwoolley.
LikeLike
Fabulous richness, creating intrigue, empathy. Enabling cultural understanding and awareness. I feel this Poem. I love it. Feels like the essence if loneliness that cuts across cultures and experience.
‘Raven Tresses and Green Eyes’
Thank you Chella
Shirley aka Cuban Redd*🌟
LikeLiked by 1 person