Her Body Speaks

In waiting rooms where clocks tick loud,
women sit with private thoughts,
each carrying stories
heavy as mountains.

Some cradle dreams deferred,
while others hold impossible choices
like broken birds in gentle hands,
their wings too fragile for flight.

There are no easy mornings here,
no simple answers wrapped in black or white.
Only shades of grey that paint
the walls of every heart involved.

Grandmothers remember back-alley whispers,
daughters dream of futures yet unwritten,
mothers balance hope and circumstance
on scales no stranger could calibrate.

Who can measure another’s journey?
Who can walk in shoes
that bear the weight
of ten thousand private tears?

Between the sacred and profane,
between the judgment and the grace,
stands a woman with her truth,
her body speaking ancient wisdom.

Some choices live in shadows,
too complex for slogans,
too personal for politics,
too human for easy judgment.

Let compassion be our guide,
let wisdom light the way,
let each heart find its peace
in its own time, its own space.

For in the end, these choices
belong not to the crowd,
but to the quiet chambers
where each soul meets its truth.