A poem dedicated to a wounded friend with golden hair. In time, grief always transforms into a pond of everlasting life.

Who are you?

I am
a woman
of golden sweetness
conceived,
from tears and blood. 

I am
a swan of desires
with pale wings
with voiceless muses.

I am
taken upon a royal road
shuffled from ballet to ballet
chosen in the foolish dusk
raped in an alley
abused at the river.

I am
the wounded mother
with glazed eyes
over a sealed heart.

I am
the strange delusion
discolouring the frock
invading the belly.

Silence…
of lamentation,
of empathy.
Where eyes agree,
about truth concealed.

I am
a woman
the ever incipient
of roses,
of briers,
ever singing
a warrior’s tune:
I am Woman!

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