As I sip my afternoon mint tea -
Her kiss can come, as cold as stone
Leaving the unsweetened water for the fat flies,
When I was lying next to him in bed, my silk petals burning,
She visited him instead; touched his wrists
Then drifting away as silent as the desert wind,
Leaving me with his bleeding mouth and stunted hum,
She can take me
As I am frantically pulling at my prickled veil, when my gold
rattles,
When my back is bent bitterly like green plums; expecting Her
To float in and stroke my shivering Bedouin lips
with Her silver fingers, whispering “come with me”.
But She hovers near my closed eyes; bearing a smile as wide
as the frowning moon.
I grow towards the shadows and whisper through the thickly
scented air,
‘My door is open, my robes untied
awaiting Your opal mouth, Your hooked nose
My square soul is trapped in your airless false-pretences;
The woman with the green mouth, and the one with the crooked
spine.
I am trapped between life and Your abandonment,
And I am still waiting
I am waiting for your touch,
To rid me from this infected fairytale, this blight. (Podosphaera pannosa)’
Habiba Da Silva
