So I asked the tides,
With arms stretched wide,
What does a woman want?
The tide replied with a grin so wild,
"How would I know,
How can I tell?"
Winking with a sly smile,
As if to say, who can ever know what a woman wants?
Tiny bits of makeup, occasional dress-ups,
A man, marriage, kids, the peculiarities—
Reluctantly, the hills would chime in.
All of nature seemed to wonder aloud—
What is it that a woman truly wants?
Tenderness, love, respect,
The mountain groaned,
Its voice rough as it rumbled!
Through time, we all ask,
But forget to ask,
The woman—what is it that she truly wants?
And so, with time, when she's asked,
At a moment least expected,
She shrugs, lost,
Unaware of what it is she really wants.
This is the tragedy, the greatest of all—
Of knowledge forever buried,
Hidden beneath layers of fear,
She plays the role of the villain,
Refusing to answer the question.
What is it a woman really wants?
