She (A poem)

She.
Shhhh.
The silent he.
Formed in silent darkness as he lay asleep.
From his side;
his bone, his flesh, his own,
yet another.
Another, the womb-man.

She.
Shhhh.
Silenced because of her fault, her naivety, her gullibility that lead her to pursuing what she already was; like God, made in His image.
Silenced by her penalty, the periodic pain and flow that seized her body, defiling her, disqualifying her.
Silent until she had to fight for herself.

Fighting to see the realization of the promise; the manifestation of the seed that would be hers, the seed that would crush the enemy, that would still the voice of the critics, the shouts of the religious sects, the nagging of the cultural clique.
She fought her way into history, sacrificing her dignity, called a prostitute, all so she could have what was rightfully hers, a seed.
She fought against strong prejudices and judged, lead a nation and guided an army, while another She killed the enemy with a tent peg.
She fought barrenness the best way she could, with tears, to the point where her words were no longer heard, accused of drunkenness yet she fought on.
She fought to save her people; staring death in the face, clothed in heaven's royal robes, her beauty radiating from inside, she won the heart of the king and annihilated her enemy with the sword meant to destroy her.
She fought and wrestled, until He came.

In her womb he took refuge, baptizing in the Spirit from infancy, baptizing the baptizer himself.
He had finally come.
Her understanding failed her, the plan was unfathomable, but faith she had , and so she embraced it, she treasured every word in her heart.
She is the one that prompted his first miracle, she is the one at the foot of the cross, watching mercy unleashed as he is pierced on the side from which she came; there she was reborn.

Now here she is; on a platform she never could have stood on, a she dare not teach a he; but here she stands.
She.
Shhhhhouting!
No longer a slave to silence!
She is set free!