You are the other woman
In my man’s life.
And yet, I don’t find it strange
To love you.
Nor does my heart burn
To accept you
As my man’s new muse.
It is strange
That we are pretty amicable
And aren’t ruffled by each other’s presence
In the same room,
Sometimes, on the same bed…
I am at awe of your mystic powers,
Of your fiery restlessness
That blazes through your dark, brown eyes.
You hold him at your command
And I just look on
Wishing to be just like you
Twenty years ago
On that fateful day
When I met my man…
Oh! I meant our man
Pardon my flighty mind
Memories are all that is left
For me to live on.
My old tricks have failed me
And I am a mere silhouette now,
Lost in my own world of self trepidation.
I want you to leave him one day.
And I know you will,
Without any guilt of leaving a broken man behind,
And become someone else’s muse.
I will still be there
Giving him a shoulder, clasping his cold palms
And reprising your soggy memories with him.
No, I won’t think of your cruelly
For I have brazenly fallen for you too
Just like our man.
Nor would I despise you
For you deserve to move on,
To be with the man that you desire
And not with the one that destiny intended for you.
However, I will patiently wait for the day
When the tables will turn
And you will face the other woman in your life.
2 thoughts on “The Other Woman”
Fiction is indeed stranger than truth 😉