I think of the neon of the nineteen eighties,
but now I have white or yellow lights
sugaring me with a shadow at me feet
And when I look at that dark reflection
I think of sleep, yet, I am wide awake;
even as I look out of the window and
can’t locate the Moon! It is, perhaps,
calling on another street! I think and act,
like a secret cross-dresser, a closet transvestite,
not discovering my true self, because of upholding false dignity!
For, I want to rage against the milieu and draw blood
due to the way they maligned me, or chose to humiliate me!
Do you think the roads of this world would lead to apocalypse
through a word of mouth from me in edict of dismissal entirely!
Do you think the stars up there have all their trumpets
blaring, and not shedding a tear over my rapined integrity?
Love cannot be a wish or a dish without the hometruths!
Peace is only a figment of evil’s imagination to devalue God!
I shout hoarse as Saint Paul’s treachery lives in every age!
The bloodcurdling silent screams of innocent victims fuel my rage!
O Mother, have I learnt patience from you each time
I said: Let it be! But doesn’t villainy need a taste of its own
treachery! Mother, how sublime have you always been – left school
at six, having lost your Dad in the WW, and thrust into poverty; a wife at fifteen
with no education; a mother of six, having to forgo all aspiration
and take on self-effacing duty! I’ve learnt that graceful sublimity
from you. But should I now shed its yolk altogether, and rage for
you as well, and destroy all, for all the injustices done to me!
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