Tuesday, May 01, 2018

The flower in the graveyard

At this juncture we stand
On the shoulders of our past.
We honour the possibilities in the present
And the deaths of the self
That made space for this moment.
Much like the flower that blossoms
In the graveyard:
It celebrates the life in the plant
And the dead that nourish its roots.
Therein lies the beauty
Of life and death
Nourishing each other.
What some call, a paradox
Nature calls, flourishing.

Saturday, April 14, 2018

My body IS NOT your battlefield

#Asifa #TheWombTales #JourneyOfTheFeminine
My body
Your battlefield.
For aeons
You have denied
Your sexuality
Your identity
Your privilege
Your power
Or the lack of it all.
You have projected
Your struggle
To take the form
Of religion
Of casteism
Of politics
Of corruption
And fought your demons
On the battlefield
That is my body.
You wanted to fight terror,
I was raped.
You wanted to gain power,
I was raped.
You wanted to punish an enemy,
I was raped.
You wanted to prove your manhood,
I was raped.
If you still do not have
The courage to face your fears
Let your demons devour you,
The way my body mourns
An unfertilised egg every month.
Yet it does not hold on
To its fear of not creating
Of not experiencing life.
It submits instead
To death
So the emptiness
May hold potential again.
My body lives
In faith of its power.
You have lived
In the lack of faith
In your power.
May your fear consume you.
May you die to your lack.
May be you will
Be reborn
That my body
Your battlefield.