this ‘S’, a serpent
gripping its tail in its mouth
swallowing the knowledge of itself
till it is sated
singing infinite circle songs
signing itself onto its own scales
to the tone of the kundalini ohm
a note recognisable in us all
if we only listened
a note that supersedes the noise of misogyny
of war rape and the cost
of living the nip tuck
dictated by ticked boxes and barbie stencils
by sitcom stereotypes and fashion pages
music videos or good intentions
wearing a splattered apron of liberal new manliness
or by the officious tongue of religion -
how I twist in its ode to womanliness
the now-ness that 'I AM'
cannot be held to ransom by a corset of lies
or Frankenstein-ed by the stitches of a surgeon’s knife
shameless I wear this ‘S'
my cape, a sheet of tears
cloaking my passion, muting my fears
shielding my dreams
breath hot as volcanic sighs
my cape, a sheet of tears
cloaking my passion, muting my fears
shielding my dreams
breath hot as volcanic sighs
oozing free through every pors
scorching the feathers on peace doves
singeing the locks of my own children’s hair
burning eye holes into the sky
to see beyond the ozone and the man-made
and back to the sacred dust
that collects on the feet of the iguana
close to the earth and a millennia old
scorching the feathers on peace doves
singeing the locks of my own children’s hair
burning eye holes into the sky
to see beyond the ozone and the man-made
and back to the sacred dust
that collects on the feet of the iguana
close to the earth and a millennia old
Written by Zena Edwards©
No comments:
Post a Comment