The Lady On Rizal Street
A poem
The heaven bowed with rejections
as the lady in white trod the road.
Her ensemble of the ancient
of the divine
and the wicked
maketh her a human metronome.
She’s a beaut — with blustery flounces pinned on her shoulders.
Her intensity mussed by the overcast sky
lifts her beyond extremes; a pockmarked of million centuries.
She’s a storm in your window, a vision to behold
But be careful for she walks not with grace
but with terror and lingering cold.
The tattered velvet across her skin
is a testament to a tainted gumption.
Her wavy mane of gold
with hints of black and red
permeates a quietus
with spewing dread.
Her eyes — they are chalky and fierce
for a dame like her is no ordinary.
They glow on the streets
like a burning candlelight
but disappears in an instant
upon the lay of anyone’s sight.
Her lips — they are muted with mayhems
of the past; thatched with unheard evangel.
For once, you may hear her speak — a cursing lament
but never twice
for she pops like a bubble
at the drop of the dice.
When the moon merges with the stars,
she wanders the desolate streets of Rizal.
She’s a dream, an apparition
of a long lost valediction
no one knows
if she’ll ever finish her mission.
The heaven bows with rejections
as she treads Rizal street as before.
She looks at the mirror
and sees an undulation
of an inky soul
of a wounded damsel.
I see me.
Zsanyla Cabansag is a ‘lady of feelings’ and a lover of serendipities. She writes about books, love, and dolce-far-niente. Read more of her works here:
