BRUISED GODDESS The tiara, Studded with precious stones from paradise That I wear on my aching forehead Hides the nicks cuts wounds and clotted blood from last night I feel safe behind the glitter of the tiara Safe. Safe from prying eyes, curious stares, I am goddess, no doubt, But I am wife to a man-god, Which is much the same. Much the same. I, the goddess of learning Was taught the rudraveena, I float on the back of white birds, I, the meek one, I, the docile. I hide the black eye behind scented kohl, tons of it, Mask the wounded eyes with the gossamer veil of the feminine, My swollen lips are parted in smile, I smile. It is painful. I smile. The cigarette burns on my thighs, breasts, Are well hidden behind the white muslin, Oh yes, the gods do smoke, loaded cigarettes, cigars, Loaded with opium from the Himalayas, Oh yes, we drink from the nectar of the heavens, Filled in the best wooden barrels, Yes, we drink. We smoke. We do many other things. This ruby nose-ring, That flashes fire, Is the cover to hide my broken nose, To put the brakes on a fuller smile, To put me in place. None shall see the wounds between my thighs, Which you reopened In the glittering hall of the dance hall, On the cold of the marble Even while the beautiful dancers watched in silence Behind those massive, hexagonal pillars. I am the goddess of beauty, of knowledge, I suppose I am woman too, With a wound between my legs, Red, turgid, raw. Chandini Santosh
Posted on: Sat, 07 Jun 2014 06:51:04 +0000
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