for repeating routines to fade.
As does the weary woman,
for her endless duties to pause.
All those eternal spells
of aching and bleeding,
shedding and rebuilding,
she revisits with earnest eyes.
Scars of the nine months,
she remembers yet again,
with numbed tears overflowing
for unknown last few times...
Wind whistles his way up
through loosened folds and cracks,
to hum stories of tiny beings
who used to live in that sacred cave.
For someone who has been
profoundly deep and full,
its difficult to accept
becoming hollow and shallow.
Empty and refill
has been whose rhythm,
being consecutively vacant
feels out of character!
O woe is her weeping womb
who fears
of being made redundant
in her own body's workplace.
:: Perimenopausal signs make me anxious... ::
 |
| :: Looking at yourself from inside the womb! :: |
