The Black Rose

I don't understand.. Amongst all the colours and flaunting beauties, The perfectly smoothed hair, long legs, competing cuties. There stands a black rose, Silent and demure With a confident stride and a modest allure. She is called many names: 'Ninja' 'A Postbox' If someone wants to be nice, Guess.. 'An Arabian Princess' Though with what thoughts, only he'd know best.. And of course: 'Batman!' "Batgirl would have been more accurate," I hear her chuckle and mutter. The harasser startled begins to stutter: "She can talk?" "She knows English?" He just stands there and gawks As if she's an Alien, a black crow that squawks. My eyes curiously follow her, I wonder, Does she not feel hot in this scorching heat? Pools of black fabric flow at her feet. I ponder: How cruel the world is to label her Isolate her Pretending to defend her. In many countries under the guise of helping her, The western world gives false promises of freedom, of rescuing her. They try to snatch away her attire and what defines her So she too becomes an object of others sexual desires. So I ponder: How would you define yourself? describe yourself? I would like to hear her words directly rather than forming opinions from distorted information unjustly. Sitting on the park bench, A book in her gloved hand Her eyelashes flutter like a Chinese hand fan, No way, does she look uneducated and oppressed, man! But a veiled mystery, I want to understand. Without thinking I approach, Awkwardly fumbling out a "hello". She looks up as if to say : if you're here to be silly, just go.. "No! Ah erm I'm doing some research about Women in Different Cultures, Be at ease miss, I promise I'm no vulture." I can feel her smile although I cannot see, She pats the bench: please ask comfortably. "What does your clothing mean to you? Refusing to be stripped of their identity, are but a few. The harsh tides try to sweep you in too, But you stand firm against them, an unwavering dew." What she said next, was etched into my soul, Inscribed in gold: "My beauty may be concealed apparently, However my character is revealed for eyes that see deeply justly Compassionately and sincerely. Those kind eyes will see... Me. After all, it is our hearts that define who we are, Home to our thoughts, feelings, values, each of us a star. That which is hidden does not make it nonexistent or worthless, It indicates towards it's value, that to someone it is very precious. My black garments are a shield from smouldering stares, Which undress women in their minds and strip them bare. Disrespected, tossed aside a woman has become a thing Just to take pleasure from, a toy, irrelevant are her feelings. I am sheltered from unfamiliar and sleezy eyes, Unfaithful men and dirty minds. Whilst adored by loved ones who have the right, My clothing protects my inner light of: Chastity Faith Loyalty Basically Me: My personality Pearls in scarcity. So let my speech introduce me My tone speak for me My character define me My eyes compliment and reflect What my heart possesses: An Inner Beauty.