Not long ago, the fifth century lyrical poet Amaru was unknown to me. Tonight, however, I am bathed in his sensual ode to women’s body and the mysticism that surrounds our flesh. Amaru’s Though She’s the Girl makes me yearn to be the object of his scrutiny and wonder.
Though She’s the Girl by Amaru
Though she’s the girl, I’m the one who’s shy;
And though she walks with heavy hips, it’s I
Who cannot move for heaviness; and she
Who is the woman: but the coward, me.
She is the one with high and swelling breast,
But I the one with weariness oppressed.
Clearly, in her the causal factors lie,
But the effects in me. I wonder why!
Posted by Saro 