The Witches
A Medieval dream
I woke up sweaty in the middle of the night.
My chest was pulsating as if a monster fought inside.
The air in the room had a mixture of pain and relief.
I couldn’t stop my tears and the sounds of mourning.
A woman had come into my dream.
I watched her talking in the beginning.
I understood she was a free-thinking person, in touch with spirit.
The next moment she was tied to a burning pole;
a crowd was cheering!
Some men dressed in cloaks were near her;
I saw satisfaction in their facial expressions,
as if they had just heard something desirable during confessions.
The image-shots were alternated quickly and I couldn’t zoom,
but I think one of them was holding “Malleus Maleficarum”.
She was so calm, like knowing her spirit wouldn’t die,
but I had absorbed the silent pain of her body, before “goodbye”.
The dream had finished there, the story though didn’t.
“Witch”-hunting spirally reappears, though the “M.M.”-book is “forbidden”.
Sexism, silencing the free-thinkers, rape of any kind are all present even now,
and simultaneously our species is capable of miracles somehow.
We have both clear lakes and muddy waters within;
let’s choose where to “swim”, for clarity to win.
I stayed awake for two more hours, living the grief in the beginning.
It was like mourning with Earth for all her tortured offsprings.
Then She shared again the purpose of all the repeating and the come-backs,
and I was once more a…
