Mistress of Mettle

by Originals143

She's had it all, abjection, humiliation. She's been subject to various prejudices, all worthless. But she's taken it all in stride, she's risen from it, stronger than one can imagine. She's the queen; she wears that crown with dignity. Two small poems, basically dedicated to Tarika and Shreya - the two women I admire a lot - but goes out for every other lady of vigour.

A/N: These poems are my creation. I have my copyright on them; don't mind I'm extra sensitive toward my poetry. N. O. NO STEALING please! Thank you!

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:: Mistress of Mettle ::

[Tarika]

She walks that unfazed gait,

those brown curls cascading down her back.

Unkempt hair, they run wild like the ocean.

But for her, they turn docile,

she has them tamed; she wears them like a crown.

You're there, though, watching her.

Cocooned in your own shell of inhibition,

you affront her, letting your bitterness lash

so shamelessly, so shamelessly.

She is no Goddess, she has her own flaws.

Yet, she's everything you can never be.

Because, darling, she owns her faults, takes them all in her stride.

A power that shall never reach you.

Not that you'll try, ever.

She could knock sense into your skull,

she could rise above your power of cognizance

higher, higher and higher.

But she prefers to go on, silently,

laughing to herself, she forgives your naivety.

She goes on, letting those wild curls loose.

She has them tamed, they rise above all

like the feral waves of the ocean, you know they can drown you,

deeper, deeper and deeper.

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[Shreya]

She juggles every day,

between tasks and her alliances

her jet black hair brushing her shoulders

as smooth as the errands she handles.

Effortless. Ohh, so effortless!

That fire in her eyes,

you know it's unmistakable, lethal.

She walks with wolves;

ferocious to the world, they bow down to her.

You know she's always been this.

A lady of little words,

standing unperturbed.

You know she needs no speculation of you, whatsoever.

She believes in nothing, but her self-worth.

And it's enough, indeed. She can live by it.

Yet, you return with a vain vengeance,

catapulting a sequence of prejudices,

so useless, so useless.

That's all you can do, you know so well.

Like a senator blabbering in a parade,

you are determined to spread filth about her.

Dirtying minds of innocents, but predominantly, your own.

For reasons unfathomable,

you are staying there, in a bubble of your own.

Abusing her, for you realize that's all you possess.

The hatred.

Because, she's up above there, unreachable.

Going about, that unfading poise,

adorning those shoulder length locks, like a queen that she is.

She requires validation of none.

She knows she's beyond all of it. And more. And more.

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©Originals143

©Anuja's Writings