Aisha is a flower,
A wayside flower that belongs to everyone,
Every passerby, even the common dogs,
But as I sit nursing the curse of Eve,
My virginity a reality,
Aisha will break a nuptial ribbon tonight,
A man will grow to love or recent her,
Either way, she will be bound by her own words,
The oath of nuptial bliss, an echo in the wind.
Her days of freedom will know an end,
A wayside flower tamed by illusion,
While I will sit over this calabash,
Bound to nature, mocked by her jailer.
I wish to be free, in illusion if I must.
Not as a wayside flower,
But as Aisha, bound by words to a fate unknown
Basking in the bliss of my imagination
Under the roof where my children will grow.