Hold her hand and guide her down the shores of the blue sea?
The yielding sand below your feet
The salty-sweet breeze, she will not notice.
Lost will she be in a cloud of colour and dense smokes of happiness
Too scared to accept, too scared to believe,
That all her dreams have at last turned to reality.
A troubled child, a child wont to deep thoughts
A child who saw the world in words,
A girl who dreamt of people in pages and stories in still screens
A scared young woman running from despair to distrust,
Hiding from bravery, in the embrace of sheltered homely blankets.
That is the woman you will have in your arms
A little fragile on the surface, chinked in many places
But hard as the bubbles of colours within molten glass.
You will have to step cautiously
Understand that she has a young face but a mind that is old
You will have to prise apart her fingers gently
Removing each small digit one by one, away from its sweaty clasp.
She has dreamt about you for a long time
A time which is long in moments if not in years.
She is not like you, a self-styled monarch of your own destiny,
Surfing with skill and flair on your brightly painted surf board,
Dodging one blue-green wave after another, with nonchalance.
You are the product of a world that worships man-kind,
While woe-man struggles to find her foothold.
Most are tired of the eternal cry for justice,
All they desire is to be honoured for their only special birthright,
To give birth and nurture the little body in their womb in peace.
SO grip those sore shoulders tightly, but with care
And lead her away from her fears, and
Teach her that all those who are of your sex are not seeking harm.
When she comes to you will you take her swimming and sailing?
Or will you drown her?