I see a woman in the woods
sitting by her hut kneading dough.
She is bonny, sultry and country-side,
her face radiant with a glorious glow,
like the sky bleeding crimson with a tranquil halo.
Only the trees in the backdrop are bit scraggy.
But what is she doing alone in the wilderness ?
No woman of our time in her right mind
would go to the woods, let alone live there.
Maybe this is why,
Its for good that she is in a painting
hung on the wall in my room --not real nor alive,
luckier than those who were raped last fortnight,
and their bodies left to rot here in the forest.
Who is gonna paint those women in the woods ?