Where Pain Thrives

Do not judge a woman on her knees: you never know how tall she is when she stands.

Do not judge a woman on her knees_ you never know how tall she is when she stands!

I am the interpretation of the prophet I am the artist in the coffin I am the brave flag stained with blood I am the wounds overcome I am the dream refusing to sleep I am the bare-breasted voice of liberty I am the comic the insult and the laugh I am the right the middle and the left I am the poached eggs in the sky I am the Parisian streets at night I am the dance that swings till dawn I am the grass on the greener lawn I am the respectful neighbour and the graceful man I am the encouraging smile and the helping hand I am the straight back and the lifted chin I am the tender heart and the will to win I am the rainbow in rain I am the human who won’t die in vain I am Athena of Greek mythology I am the religion that praises equality I am the woman of stealth and affection I am the man of value and compassion I am the wild horse ploughing through I am the shoulder to lean onto I am the Muslim the Jew and the Christian I am the Dane the French and the Palestinian I am the straight the square and the round I am the white the black and the brown I am the free speech and the free press I am the freedom to express I will die for my right to be all the above here mentioned And should threat encounter I’ll pull my pencil

I ain’t scared to lend a hand I ain’t scared to clench it either

Had I only known my letters Would be of such importance I’d empty myself on paper Every single morning’ And it was for such reason, as she read his little stanza, that she decided to stamp one final letter: ‘Every single morning I’d empty myself on paper You were my greater importance That’s why I wrote you letters.

The match I struck shall not run dead You’re my first inhale, my last cigarette.

We quenched the bulging flame, amongst the ashes embers of fire remain

All mothers breed dead children. They shall, perhaps, live later. When no longer dead, they are born Not—by coincidence, by choice.

I wore you on me at all times Like I now carry my pen. Unlike your own opinion my Belongings must have a function. You bled through the ink of my lines and To be my subject nursed your thirst. Was it my fault, or your own, that you forgot —I do not deal in tender verse.

Lonely you linger in a league above poetry.

What differentiated us was our perception of our mutual reality, which made no difference.

I shall have my lasso, I shall lead the course; I recognize it’s time to mount a different horse.

Women in love are pathetic and I cannot be bothered, for now, I am back to metaphysics and my armpits gather hair.

No man has the courage to approach her or initiate questions she herself rise, for all men fear a fascist and she can very well be a fascist’s wife.

I have not encouraged talk about man’s holy privacy, although I do respect and defend man’s right to have it.

Do not judge a woman on her knees; you never know how tall she is when she stands.