#Untitled VIII
I feel the urge to walk upon dew-kissed meadows
And look for omens in the clouds drifting lazily above
I want a house secluded from society
And a garden where I can grow plants
A safe haven for fairies and nature spirits -
What about the people dying by the indoctrinated
genocidal hands of neighbouring and foreign men?
The disturbing stillicide of their unutterable grief blackened the pages
Where many of my poems have been sitting untouched for a long, long time -
I am not a witch, yet I wish I was one
I am just a bitch, drawn to bodies and egos
I want to go political, but I can’t
I’m not that smart, but I’ve got things to say
Restless inertia
It turned me into a rock and now I crumble into sand
My mind is starving
No food for my thoughts
Still, I contemplate the moon
Trying to learn about the eternally ethereal dance of celestial bodies
Angel with no wings, forsaken on the ground
I have a soft spot for an unforgiving and neglecting God
An unforgiving and neglecting father
An unforgiving and neglecting man
I have a soft spot for a caring yet ruthless Goddess
A caring yet ruthless mother
A caring yet…
