I Die for knowledge- I am social feign. I recently found myself immersed in the storyline of A Handmaid's Tale by Margaret Atwood. True, I stumbled upon it not be mere coincidence but as part of my intricate Women Studies course, but never the less the story gave birth to these words I want to share with you. In order to really fully comprehend the metaphorical parallel to the story you will need to familiarize yourself with the themes tangled in its pages. (sparknotes.com will probably do the trick) The novel tells the story of a woman stripped of her identity- struggling to survive in a society which oppresses the intricate workings of everything feminine and reduces them to sex and labor. Excuse the crude language that may follow I usually don't have such a dirty mouth- but there is purpose behind these words directly linked to the text. My words are moved by emotion and passion- my only hope to awaken in you the same. Enjoy!
A Garden Named Gilead
These thoughts of vengeful intellect are fleeting
Only slightly standing in victory as passing history repeats
Not the creator of time but the forger of lies
Fiery pit of Dystopian hell that only burns the genitals of women like me
I’ve come too far to turn back
The reality is numbing
A sensation of candor giddiness that tickles the fermented core of this silver heart
Reminding me of times when its beat once felt alive
Now mushed into the depths of my rib cage
Pushed into the outskirts of my mind
Rather their minds, for mines has become a phlegmatic array of error
Meticulously picked apart for all its matter
A fictitious emblem of life
Could the winds that whisper softly outside my darkened window
Tell the secrets that my soul desperately seeks to cherish
Crying fainter than a willow’s branches hanging limply to the fleeing breeze
This mind is a disease, intoxicated in vague lustful desire
To be lustfully desired- evidence that my womanhood may still exist
Longing to be held to the beat of a lover’s heart in passions thud
Instead I lay covered in this muck, of tragedy
Not a single word to speak
Damned be the Eves of this forbidden Garden
Feeding the hungry mouths of snakes as Adam sleeps
Betrayed by the single seconds passed
I naked could never turn back
Too long the distance I’d have to run, could I even recall the path
Slowly stir the current candy of tasteless commands
The glossy reflection of vowels sting, my lips ache to make out their ring
To resound like a scream of jealous fury
Hate me and break me- take what once made me
But these intermitting flashes of consciousness
Can never be reproached
Never loathed the bourgeoisie, until it outdid me
Consider an elite form of death
A sentence to starvation of feminine breathe
A suffocation of everything red, drenched in the blood staining rain of sex
Limbs of sensual senseless skin step cautiously
Stretched over the horizon that paints the sky scarlet
The wall that divides me from my fait
Plastered in membrane of valiant guts, I remain
Slave to the side I embark to resign
To never turn back the hands of time
In my mind I’ve tried
Ive failed
Complacent in nothing yet this is my tale
Like hundreds before me and numerous yet frail
Get over the hype you may be the one
To strike back and blot out the weapons of mass destruction
The lips of sinful loveless
know nothing more of these
Own nothing but blackened wasted knees
Scraped with the prayers to a God who hears the meek
Personifying his bodied soul- weary be the captain ghosts
Inheritance was promised for those like me
Breasts that milk the rivers running deep to infertile grounds
Wrenched the drops of its honey stinging the areola of its endowed crown
Turn away- run back- be free in your mind
Never let these bastards take part in murderous demise
All that is you be prepared to package
Carry the luggage like the branding passport of envy
Stamped with the parallels of worlds transferred in time like a stitch
Touch not the forbidden fruit for you will surely shrivel in sickening cringe
Welcome to the this Garden, the land of theocratic manipulation
Dissertation of wombs executed for verdicts of hysteria and truth
Melody of a common thread, weaving the cloth of this crimson bed
Serene is the joy that comes from ignorance
To be caught in your own trap
Lays the foundations cracked with cement
Be weary as you enter the gates of Gilead.
-Mayra Pereira ©2010
All material published and written on this page comes directly from Mayra Pereira and is therefore my property, and subject to its protection. Please respect the Art.
No comments:
Post a Comment