The feathers or the eggs?

Was it for the feathers or for the eggs?

17 August 2010

And the rooster crowed

And I asked, “rooster, why do you crow so”?

The rooster said, “because it is in my nature”

And the rooster showed

His lustreless feathers that shined no more

Said, wait as I get some shine from an old pasture

The rooster strutted over to his forgotten hen

Sitting cowering there in her narrow den

And the rooster said, “give me back my lustre

Or all hell against you I will now muster”

And the hen squawked

And I asked, “hen, why do you squawk in fright”?

The hen said, because I just want some peace

And the hen balked

At the rooster plucking her feathers, causing her plight

Said, my beautiful eggs and feathers you shall not fleece

The rooster crowed

The hen squawked

The rooster said she owed

The hen again balked

They ran around in circles so vicious

While foxes and wolves hailed this precious

Unexpected, juicy meal for the years to come

That would last a while, make their stomach a drum

The fox jumped upon the hen

The wolf nabbed the rooster

And that is when each fowl realised

That they were oh so ill-advised

And fox and wolf lived happily ever after, their stomachs replete

Morale of the story: When dead, no more feathers for which to compete

Woman, cover up!

 Woman, cover up !

15 August 2010

He calls me seething with rage and concerned for my well-being. “I am your friend, I think about your well-being”, “Someone has to stop you”, “Why did you put all of that on facebook?”.

To which I answer coldly “Not only. I also blogged about it and tweeted it too.”

He goes “Are you crazy? Why on earth did you do that?” “You should think about your reputation” “How can you talk about this in front of everybody? How can you speak about your life so that everybody can read it? This is impossible. Someone has to stop you” “I am your friend, I really need to see you, someone has to talk to you. You cannot go on like this”. “My God, you should think about the kids”.

“Precisely”, I answer coldly. “I am thinking about them. I cannot stop thinking about them. A court of (in)justice has refused to hear this reality and grant them and me our rights. What that courtroom refused to hear, hundreds of ears shall hear it and a thousand eyes shall read it.” “I want the whole world to be my witness, so that my appeal, at last, may be heard in its whole truth, may be truly judged and not misjudged” “So that my appeal may bring THEM back to me.”

Yes, my friend I think about THEM, night and day. There is nothing else that I can think about.

He pleads with me thinking that madness has possessed my mind. He pleads with me to remove all traces of this shameful confession, this ghastly, unwelcome display of flesh and pain. He would like me to cloak in hypocrisy what I displayed today. I know he thinks he means well. But I know I have a mind of my own and can think too. I do not need someone to think for me. I do not need to be “in custody”.

Woman, cover up!

Don’t forget. You owe it to tradition, you owe it to custom, you owe it to religion, you owe it to your husband, like you owed it to your father before him like you will owe it to your brothers and then to your uncles if all else die. And if you have no family left, you will still owe it to the male representatives in your neighbourhood, …. You may not be your naked self. You may not share your thoughts. You may not express your feelings. Woman, cover up! You are “in custody”.

Woman, cover up!

Have you been raped, has someone forced what he calls love out of you? Hush! Do not speak! Hush! Do not report! The shame, the shame, the shame…Hush! For if it comes out in the open, I will have to kill you. Or maybe I will just kill you all the same. Out of precaution. For your redemption. It is the most honourable solution for you and for us. I will have to kill you. Me. Your father. Your brother. Your husband. Your uncle. Your legal guardian. Woman, cover up!

Woman, cover up!

Has he beaten you? Is there a mark on your face, on your body that should not exist, naturally? Is it too highly placed to have been caused by a flailing window, by a recalcitrant door? On the small of your back is perfectly alright. Nobody can see that. On the edges of your throat is still okay. You can cover that up in no time. Is it on the side of your cheek? On the top of your brow? On the edge of your chin? On the side of your lip? On the end of your lid?  Woman, cover up! What else is makeup for?

Woman cover  up!

Have you been wronged till you were cloaked in your sorrow? Have you been married off with no hope of a loving morrow? Have you been betrothed with a man much older than you? A man old enough to be your father? A dying man, old enough to be your grandfather? A man at the peak of his vigour, as some tell you jeeringly to convince you. A nice mature and strong man, while you were only nine, twelve or hopefully thirteen? Well it is all part of life. Nothing to alert the neighbours about, so don’t! Not even a secret to tell your best friends, so don’t! Those best friends, women that I will choose – only women of high morality that I approve of – will anyway be living the same life. The only life that you will ever know. Let me screen them so you may not stray. Woman, cover up! That is all that you are allowed to do. You are after all “In custody”.

Woman, cover up!

Have you been oppressed? Has male justice wronged you? Has again male supremacy silenced you? Did you think you had something to say? Did you think that you had rights? Did you think that you were meant to be happy? Did you think that you could go out in the open and tell everybody your secrets? Have you not learnt anything? Woman, cover up!

Woman, cover up!

Sorry, I lost my Sifsari, never learnt to wear a Burqa and Sheherezade stole my veils. The problem is only she knows where she hid them. The other problem is, Sheherezade is dead. Ask Joumana Haddad. She killed Sheherezade.  And now, I will never know where my veils are, so I am afraid I cannot… cover up…Me, woman…

The truth of the matter is…I don’t want to. I will not cover up…Not anymore…

Me in you and you t(h)ree in me

Me in you and you t(h)ree in me

14 August 2010

 …

I see you in the  universe

Through this present tense, dark and terse

I split and wander everywhere

To reach you, hug you, pat your hair

 …

I hear and see you from within

My blood in you will never thin

I see you playing in your room

Despite the dark and present doom

 …

I see your joys again shine, flout

Shadows that you will come, throw out

This artery you’ll come unclog

We’ll take time to play with the dog

… 

We’ll hum; we’ll sniff the jasmine tree

I’ll pick up some for you and me

Together we’ll make a garland

Huddled ball, in our own island

 …

Your laughter rings within these walls

You hear my heart, I hear your calls

Again dolls, trucks, mad games we’ll play

You’ll come again, you’ll come to stay

 …

We will roll in sweet summer’s grass

This sadness washed by you will pass

Like castles built by you and me

Washed away by the tireless sea

Bomboula est morte, Vive l’A Per te hais ide

Bomboula est morte, vive l’A Per te hais ide

12 août 2010 (en soirée après avoir reçu la décision du juge rédigée le même jour)

 …

Ah la belle justice française, elle est à l’image de son Président nain

Elle a pris toutes les foutaises, mélangé, stupide, aveugle, ivraie et grain

Ma douleur réverbère à l’infini, de mon témoignage, du leur, on ne retient rien

 …

Avocat associé, guidé d’avocate avide, présidés de juge mâle, veules et mesquins

Se gaussant de droits paternels frustrés valant plus que leur bien-être, leur entrain

Triste individu que celui se vengeant d’une épouse ne pardonnant plus, noie ses gamins

 …

Je regarde sans bien comprendre le message de haine qui remplit ce parchemin

Mon avocate me demande si faire appel, bien sûr se hâter, dès le lendemain

Pour accélérer, envoyer vite cette supplique, je voudrais leur prêter plus de mains

 …

La justice aveugle et sourde, se fait du misogyne, aujourd’hui, la catin

Dans sa soumission secrète, âme noire, regard terne, elle annonce son dessin

Cette triste annonce il me faut désormais la faire à mes pauvres chérubins

… 

Exsangue je sonne à leurs oreilles si avides naguère ce glas, le leur et le mien

Ils pleurent, prient, supplient, essaient, je les entends qui le raisonnent en vain

Inflexible, sourd à leur appel, se gaussant, il scelle d’un sceau de pouvoir leur destin

 …

Mon crime à moi c’est d’être Indienne, Arabe, peuples foulés du pied, en chemin

Ajoutez à cela Musulmane, quelle infâme, ma c(o)ul(eur)ture ne leur sied pas au teint

Sans oublier, crime ultime, que mon travail nous a porté, de leur monde étriqué, si loin

… 

Faveurs de cour, garanties, pourries, je les ai regardés jouer aux modernes Parrains

Peu las de leur présence, rouge gorges pompeux chantant leurs propres refrains

Ils cèdent à la discrimination positive, le père, le nouveau noir français qu’on étreint

Overdose d’amour

Overdose d’amour

12 août 2010

 …

Bien dangereuse alchimie que cette soif d’amour

Je les regarde grisée, de mon propre corps vautour

Leurs petites frimousses pointant, astre du jour

Mon cœur les voyant enfin marche. Que dis-je ? Il court

 …

Et voilà que s’envole ma sobriété

De leur présence magique, si longtemps privée

Junkie, extatique, ce jour je me suis shootée

Overdose d’amour, mes veines ont éclaté

Trois de mon insomnie, trois de ma vie

Trois de mon insomnie, trois de ma vie

11 août 2010

Ouvrière d’amour, je vis l’envers d’un Germinal

Sans leur amour, cancéreuse en phase terminale

Comme je voudrais jouer mon propre Assommoir

Boire, m’enivrer, m’annihiler à cet abreuvoir

Mais mon esprit clair, précis et par trop lucide

Me fait regarder en face cette vérité aride

Le deuil en âme, le regard creux, le cœur en trépas

J’ouvre leurs chambres et compte, zéro, ils ne sont pas là

….

Quel incurable, triste mal que la lucidité

Que n’ai-je, de légende, été blonde écervelée

Mais dieu m’a faite, du cliché, la ténébreuse brune

Je cède encore, l’esprit las, à ce tourment nocturne

L’instant suspendu, cru, de leur si belle naissance

Joue à l’infini dans ma douloureuse conscience

En rêve, je les étreints fort, l’amour nous réunit

Mais insomniaque sans eux, j’inspire et je crie

Je vomis ma douleur sur les murs de mon cercueil

Cherchant à clouer leur douce image à mon œil

J’ouvre la bouche, j’inspire, je crie, encore et encore

Tandis qu’au dehors la nuit noire se colore d’aurore

Le jour plat arrive enfin et je n’ai plus de voix

Blanche, lavée, épurée de mes nocturnes émois

Ma dame de compagnie me sert le déjeuner

Je le regarde, l’œil morne, ce plat que je vomirai

Mon infini

Mon infini

9 août 2010

 …

Je suis un vase et tu es l’infini

Comment te contenir sans me briser ?

Je suis le connu, tu es l’inédit

Comment te retenir sans te brider ?

 …

Mon cœur, triste, las de ses jeux d’esprit

Le rouge au front et les joues enflammées

Vacille tant dans ses élans étourdis

Me faut-il, encore, mon cœur consumer ?

 …

Je le regarde, la tendresse m’envahit

Marin, mutin, source d’amour, d’amitié

Qui joue au jeu de l’amour sans dépit

Sacré coquin, filou et flibustier

 …

L’ancre le ferait succomber à l’ennui

L’océan est sa demeure préférée

D’un geste doux, de mon cœur, je le délie

Vers l’infini, le laisse continuer

Of Love and change

Goddess of love, Goddess of wrath

July 28, 2010

..

Fools lunge at me, they are mistaken

Thinking my love can be forced, taken

No, my freedom can’t be forsaken

My love can only be partaken

 ..

My love, complete, is only given

Past hurt and present I’ve forgiven

The mind, by human bonds, is driven

On doubt, fear, despair, hate has thriven

 ..

Goddess I am, the Durga you spurn

Consumed with passion, you ache and yearn

I watch, unmoved you blacken and burn

A lesson of pain, you have to learn

 ..

Great devourer of many a soul

I burn into your mind’s eye a hole

Burnt, consumed, finally, you are whole

Your heart forever, I came and stole

 ..

You come enticed by this free spirit

Yet it is that, you choose to limit

You dwelt a while, a stealthy visit

Free thinking, you may not inhibit

 ..

My freedom’s mine, mine are my choices

Following millenary voices

Of total freedom, she rejoices

Words of sweet soothing, she devoices

 ..

A thousand years I’ve been put to sleep

Bending willow, forever I weep

Like mine, many other souls you reap

Climbing love’s mountain, a path so steep

 ..

I watch forlorn, again, me you fail

My heart is torn as, away, you sail

I cry my heart, a bucket, a pail

Alas why? It is to no avail

 ..

Mutating process, no room for mirth

I lay ashen, reaching for the firth

Change, renewal, a painful birth

I sink again into mother earth

 ..

Ink, ink, forever, dark and black ink

I watch mesmerized my poor soul sink

I am on the verge, on the sheer brink

Of losing love, that sweet rosy pink

 ..

I hold it sinking under my knee

Murder she cries, she asks me to flee

Forever it shall be only me

That is the way it was meant to be

 ..

Every night I lay down and I die

A hope of a future glints in my eye

Lifeless, my body strewn there I lie

Silent and still, not even a sigh

.. 

I lay waiting for spring, lone sparrow

For dawn, despite the night, black, narrow

Knowing I’ll wake up to a new tomorrow

So full of joy despite the sorrow

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=82C6JWtywxE

Link to the reading of the poetry