‘All that glitters is not gold!’
Yet it is believed and often told,
That ‘A thing of beauty is a joy forever’,
Then why does a beautiful woman need to be clever?
For the lovely Lida, Lord Zeus turned into a swan,
Consequently, the beautiful Helen was born.
She became the cause of the Trojan war,
Alas! The great Greek men thought she was worth dying for.
Cleopatra had all the mighty Romans at her feet,
For Beauty’s sake poor Honour has often acceded defeat.
Then why should a 'Beauty’ bother her brain?
After all she’ll get everything without any toil or pain.
Oh! Heartless cynic dost thou know?
How hard it is, to get that galvanizing glow?
A nymph like frame, is not easy to maintain,
To look beautiful, the 'Beauty’ has to use her brain.
Hunger and temptation, she willfully desists,
Exposure to the sun, she judiciously resists.
Carefully, she observes every facet of fashion,
Exercising is her biggest passion.
Alas! She cannot always look like a mermaid,
With time, beauty does fade.
So, of her life, she takes the responsibility,
Nourishes her mind and polishes her personality.
It is written in accounts, authored by wise men,
That Helen and Cleopatra were both interesting and intelligent women.
‘The Beauty’ has now trespassed, the former male domain,
So the desperate dotard decries the 'Beauty’ who uses her brain!’
This reminds me of Yeats's poem "Adam's Curse" where Yeats says that he was one day discussing how hard it is to write good poetry with Maud Gonne and her friend, when this friend points out that being beautiful is not easy for a woman! Your poem reads as if that friend had decided to go back home and write poetic response to Yeats!
ReplyDeleteAdam's Curse
We sat together at one summer's end,
That beautiful mild woman, your close friend,
And you and I, and talked of poetry.
I said, "A line will take us hours maybe;
Yet if it does not seem a moment's thought,
Our stitching and unstitching has been naught.
Better go down upon your marrow-bones
And scrub a kitchen pavement, or break stones
Like an old pauper, in all kinds of weather;
For to articulate sweet sounds together
Is to work harder than all these, and yet
Be thought an idler by the noisy set
Of bankers, schoolmasters, and clergymen
The martyrs call the world."
And thereupon
That beautiful mild woman for whose sake
There's many a one shall find out all heartache
On finding that her voice is sweet and low
Replied, "To be born woman is to know --
Although they do not talk of it at school --
That we must labour to be beautiful."
I said, "It's certain there is no fine thing
Since Adam's fall but needs much labouring.
There have been lovers who thought love should be
So much compounded of high courtesy
That they would sigh and quote with learned looks
precedents out of beautiful old books;
Yet now it seems an idle trade enough."
We sat grown quiet at the name of love;
We saw the last embers of daylight die,
And in the trembling blue-green of the sky
A moon, worn as if it had been a shell
Washed by time's waters as they rose and fell
About the stars and broke in days and years.
I had a thought for no one's but your ears:
That you were beautiful, and that I strove
To love you in the old high way of love;
That it had all seemed happy, and yet we'd grown
As weary-hearted as that hollow moon.