I’ll tell him a story when I’ll find him out;
I don’t know where to seek him
but will tread the path where
my steps proceed!
As a child, he would have heard fairy tales;
from his bride, he would hear a story–
a chronicle of hardships she bore for him
an inch without wavering!
I’m no mean to recount my sacrifice
but have complaints—and he would listen!
What pleasures rivaled my agony to claim his attention?
Why didn’t my sighs unnerve his soul?
Why didn’t my wails sail to his shore?
Why didn’t his patience wear out
when others dared steal his gem to feel its shine?
Would he sense the touches that smartly tasted me
when he will take me around the garden of love
by putting his hand around my waist?
Would he care to recognize the imprints of
the unwanted kisses,
when he will gravitate toward my face?
Would intuition inform him of the flirtatious talks
they the other men took delight in,
when in a mood of coquetry he will want to
Would he care to rub ointment in wounds–
the marks of my victory as I valiantly
vanquished those who dared rob me of my loyalty?
And would he care to know
that the battles I fought
were for him—
for him alone?
Each day this story turns heavier
with each onslaught;
And I don’t want to die
with the story unheard
over which he will shed tears