The Mother.

Lets write novellas on the illusion, we were free once.
Lets build epics around the hope, we will be free soon.

Fingers entwined, one tiny another big. Two women bound.
Hands held tight, one wrinkled another young. Two women strengthened.

Wiping the floor, I have spoken tales of exuberance and grandeur.
Like Prometheus I toiled endlessly, bliss they said motherhood was.

Take this fire, my woman, my daughter. Strangle your heart with it.
It comes down from mothers and sisters. From women and grandmothers.

This fire lives in us all, it doesn't spread very violently. Nor set men on fire.
It strengthens the grip. It fuels your being, inhales life into a dry vagina.

Its heat does not conquer, its light doesn't overwhelm. It transcends color.
And the fire rides when you ride a man, rises when you cut your hair.

It doesn't die when you mother fifteen children, feed men with sticks.
Nor does it die when they encroach your body and skin you alive.

This fire is tempting. It drives them mad and they want to consume.
But it burns them alive, kills you too. But devours intruders.

Strong and violent as hell fire and calm as your mother's idols. It answers
When you ask where to go. But it floods out sometimes, isolating you.

My women, this burns in your hands and breasts. I burn in your soul
And your stare at the enemy. I shelter attacks and bring enamoring power in your eyes.


The fire, your fire, my fire. Has descended from legacy of nurturers.
My hands, my bosom, its milk. Has been sucked by greatest mortals.


I am the one, which weaker sisters ask to run away from. For I lynch their kind.
I am alive in your blood, which speaks every month. And wails.

The void which gives birth and sets the world in motion, I am that womb.
I am that axis on which you hang clothes and spin the stars to dust.

Its me they kill. Me, they murder when they come and ask for your hand.
And take you away like a pet. I weep when they ask you and you do.

I am the one you barter for love sometimes. And once you are happy in the illusion
They make sure I stay put in chains and locks. You wed happily and cook.

I give you the choice to breathe and read. I give you the chance to walk over me.
It pleases me when you choose either, but I hope you only grew stronger.

I am, the mother, the daughter, the friend, the sister, the teacher, the goddess.
I am what makes you unhappy in life. I make you choose death sometimes.

The fire of generations burns in me. And I make love to each of you.
Instilling that passion and spark. Burn brighter my lovers. You are me.