Skip to main content

Daughters of Witches you couldn't Burn

What is common with the numerous stories 
and fables and mythology 
and history and NOW, and ever,
of a tribe of strong women?
Why is history and NOW so spineless
that they bring down crime  
and war, rights and wrong
to the doing of this tribe
that they cannot handle?

That they cannot handle 
a woman with herbs,
a woman behind a telescope,
a woman with an axe,
with a head full of snakes,
a woman with beauty or without, and hair,
a woman with a voice,
in their heads or in their body,
a woman with the ballot,
with a sceptre, 
or women with the pen
or swag.

The narratives that should move around the
morals of right and wrong,
are inevitably reduced
to darkness, you cannot explain
that is beyond your comprehension.
BEYOND YOU.

And then you chop down the head of Medussas,
burn them tied to the poles,
and make them examples to many women-
to get it in their bones 
that strong women are "audacious".
That "audacity" is a crime.
and then her herbs are the crime,
her brains are a crime,
her cigarettes are a crime,
her scientific acumen is a crime,
her body is a crime,
her laughter is a crime.

Her inquisitiveness to take a bite 
of knowledge was The Sin.
That asking for her stature be equal as yours
made her a dark, senile outcast.
And then when it has been ingrained
into her bones, and in your lores,
and your stories of her fate
when she defied you,
 to gaze into stars--
That is when you made her, her own enemy.

And yet, there will always arise
Kalis and Medussas,
Ametarasus and Katherines-
Helens and Cleopatras--
despite your twisted tales to malign--
and yet again they will rise
In forms, you will never know--
In forms that are still the strong women
who, you will fail to understand--

And they are the daughters of the witches 
you could not burn.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

De ja vu'

Those days, hot and sultry as young love, ended with tea and smoke. I never smoked, though...or did I not? Smoke like love is inductive. When all around you, people smoke and drink and love... A yearning grows in you. Which satiates itself in passive inhalation. Much like falling in love with characters from folds of a dusty classic. Forgotten and imaginary, just like me. In the commotion of a roadside stall, filled with smoke layered conversations that oozed out of us, like the departing sunlight filtered through a mess of cracked wall and cobwebs, I had seen you. I had seen you through a gap within the smoke. The snakes and dragons of smoke curled around you and you looked somewhere far. It is as if nothing touched you. That mad unsettled look in your eyes had settled in some other world. You felt the weight of my gaze. I had always wondered how gaze feels like a touch. Like a deep slumber that has touched your eyes and you cannot see. And you looked at me...

Two boats in a blue stormy river

Hey can we just put ourselves aside.. and think like two runaway boats  capsized in churning waters  of a blue stormy river? Can we remember how we felt drowning and saving ourselves instead of each other in the stormy churning waters? Imagine the rocks that we hit and the holes that were made.. the scars that would remain of that night in the blue storm? We would return home some unknown shore Laying side by side battered and lopsided. Masters and people would think  we were runaway boats, While we would know how shamelessly we shamed ourselves  in the blue churning river.

The Dirtier skin

"no ship will ever take you away from yourself"---Constantine Cavafy That was long ago. Very long ago. It was that particular time of year when the shadows dance around your face as the moonlight seeps through broken clouds. We lay close, your hands trying to sketch the reality into my ears----the existence of a career and success, of a circle of friends and family, of fame and of you.  Your soothing words were covering my eyes like a lullaby, I was slipping but slumber wasn’t heavy on my eyes. I heard your voice. I saw the clouds. There was something I was waiting for. I didn’t know. Maybe a kiss. You kissed me tight. I was still waiting. I looked at the sky. The place where the moon supposedly hid herself was dimly bright beneath the clouds. I heard you say something… "your skins dirty from all that walking. Go have a bath and see you at work tomorrow”. You left.  I lay there numb , playing with my hair …minutes lapsed …I don’t know when but I slipped into a...