To Abandon your Nation- The first step onto the soil They expect you to say, Your chains were freed, Of that other country That enslaves, And rapes, And underpays. That your wounds were healed, By those who loved with open arms, Who ignored your scars, By this nation that Pays, And prays, And preys, And paves a way That’s what they want to hear, Ma spends her nights sobbing beneath pillows, As the wind blows, And the willow trees sway in the wind. Forgetting in the fruit of their labor, Who bore the brunt of their pain Who worked through sun and rain, Who tended the soil? Who endlessly toiled. For this country and nation That c-ages, For this place of salvation That wastes away. Skin, And bones, And corpses. Buried beneath tombstones, Instead of cremated where they belong.
When I first started bleeding- They dunked me in the river, Told me that I was “impure” They tried to beat it out of me, To make sure that, I would stay away, So they wouldn’t contract the forbidden disease They ensured I kept silent as, They bound my wrists with the rusty chains, And tied my legs with their rope of ignorance Strengthened by the ancestors of the past, And watered down by my fellow sister’s tears. What they didn’t understand was though, I started crying, Believed I was dying, They were feeding the fire, With the wind from their wings, With the loathing ablaze in their eyes, Feelings they thought I couldn’t recognize, They thought they could stifle me, If they let me drown, If they un-coronated me, If they melted my crown, The headdress upon Hera’s proud brow They told me I was cursed, That it was worse, Than Rama's exile, And Sita’s noble acquiescence. But I couldn’t comprehend, The way they spoke, Their gazes seething, Like fiery coal, Somehow I saw into their souls, Their disgust and revulsion, Made me question, Was god’s heaven, Really all I had been told? Was this world, Really as I’d known? Or was I being deceived, Thrust upon my knees, At a man’s revered feet. Forced to worship by, Satan’s “holy” priests
There are women- Who stood before mirrors And became so enraptured with their reflection, They forgot what it was like to, Be at home with themselves. There are women, like Ma, Who lost themselves in feeling, The fight between hunger and pain, The equator between the two spheres of being There are women, Who thought to starve, Was to live, A happier, Longer, Life As if blood-letting, Could once cure diseases There are women, Who prescribe medication, For perfection, Blindly following, The blood-stained Brick road Till the very end, Ignoring their bodies, With what they believe to be strength, But is a human Achilles heel, Of the highest order They find themselves, Incapable of worshiping, A disfigured idol, Just as they are unable, To witness the beauty in their curves, In the roundness of their shape, In the secrets hidden in their thighs, And lush breasts, The untold tales between their lips, Worth far more, Than anything they could bargain for with god.
Spilled Ink 