Moving there
Like a vision
Enthralled audience
Clapping
Cascading gaze
Enraptures this voice
Urges into flow
Like water from its iris-melted frost
Save for this
Sensuous sound
Escaping siren’s mouth
Will be condemned
No doubt

Sour tongues will wag, she has a child

In depths of ocean
Her womb’s sweet fruit

She needs to tend
Behold the treachery of her scarlet syrupy passion
Behold the fish which has commanded its own space
Upon this stage

Basks in their terror
Casts in concrete her glances, careless;
Like the robbed that smiles and so steals
Something from the thief.

Her mind harbors no serenity
Shrouded in the dogma of maternity
She longs to remain
Swimming in the outskirts of her name

Beyond the centre
Clean cuts made by their sleek vindictive daggers
Where it stays lonesome, dark
The brashness of their fingers pointing
Rusting roughened dreams
Still suffering with hope

She stands.
She parts her lips and out comes the round bubble
Of the choice she was bound to choose;

Grayness that she ushers out in sprinkled blues
Raw golden hues,
Contemptuous
Her voice appeals
To deathless roaring crowds
She bows and frowns;

She’ll not calm down.