PoeticPassions

Gypsy Girl



Run, little girl
Run, become a woman now.
You are like a gypsy
Pregnant with fear
And loathing.
Your wrath towards the
World which outcast you
Grows in angry pangs,
Like a child's kick in the womb.
Yet, you have not yet
Given birth to your
Importunate sorrow.
I pray you do not
Carry the infant of
Your grief into this world,
And pierce my already
Gaping wounds with your
Echoing wails.

No one knows your
Name, gypsy girl.
They judge your
Charcoal cheeks
And wide, lost eyes,
But they ask not your name.
They see your dress
Flailing in the wind
But know not the
Numbness you feel
Even in the resonant motion
Of your dance.

How can they know you,
My gypsy girl?
How can they see your
Beauty as I see it?

So run, run gypsy girl
And don't look back.
You are a wanderer,
Like me.
You are a drifter,
Like me.

Take your solitude
Far from these hills
And these tainted sylvans.
Run, and become a woman—
A woman without a name.


(written almost three years ago)