She is a vessel that’s all
a seed from the seed that came before
a wave flowing out from the bang
a reverberating circle reaching out.
Once she was cherished
placed in the centre of the hearth
observed and protected from elements
she loved no matter how rough.
Now she is tied between two poles
her limbs cannot move
or lay down to rest.
How can she nurture the world
as a thing that bleeds onto the soil beneath
her legs forced open so that lost souls can rape
with their hatred.
How can she see the unfolding drama
now her eyes have been gouged
and how can she offer advice
when her lips have been sewn together
or hear the lamentation of birds
when her ears plugged with the screech
of a dead warrior is set on replay?
Who will witness the despair of her sons
and the exhaustion of her daughters
when there is no more art or music
only a silent screen capture of today’s
How will the starving masses endure
the endless pain when their hormones
begin to eat their own organs?
How can she birth the next generation
when her torn uterus hangs
outside her body?
How will the mind remember that lifeexisted at all when all its seeds have perished?