As per tradition, I spent more time in the detention hall in Catholic School during my Secondary School years than anyone before or after me, in that educational establishment's 75 year history, so I was told bitterly by Mother Superior.
In my useless quest to get myself excommunicated, complete with the Papal note to authenticate it, I etched this poem in youthful hopes to get that letter. None ever came but it did earn me a week's detention, much the delight and thrill of my Alpha and my female father.
I wrote more, of course. However this one earned me fear from my classmates because what I was etching was, indeed, volatile. In a macho ridden country, that's a no-no. So, below is the poem that sent me to infamy. As if trying to conquer the entire school's student body hadn't been enough. The poems were to me then, as they are now. A break in the monotony for the nuns. As you can see, I haven't changed much.. I'm just a bit more cover these days.
Enjoy!
Describe all the colors of the rainbow to a blind man,
ask the dice of the gambler to submit itself to chance,
or predict ghastly ashes to an ardent lust-filled lover.
Ask the autumn wind not to tear down a bird's nest,
and everything I say will be useless,
as useless as social complacency,
although gender to most,
is, as necessary as, Death.
Because Death is necessary, benign and beautiful,
beyond our hours of madness and pleasure.
Non-gendered thinking is necessary,
to set oneself free,
like a shadow, in order to see the stars more vividly.
After all, the stars only rise in the night.
And that day that never comes which is tomorrow,
compared to the day of ever lasting changes which is today.
It's the blind man, the dice, the wind, the distant star.
A land without patriarchy is no man's land,
lying somewhere between Never and Perhaps.
Because patriarchy is a poisoned water,
that brings on more thirst, to an already parched soul.
It is an ambiguous answer, to the fear of women ruling the Earth,
that begets one too many unanswered questions.
It is what burns neath the flame of men's kind eyes,
the invisible in the wind,
and the ghasty terror for the inmiment threat of extinction,
for defiant beasts such as I.
And I tell you this in a damning poem.
Muscularly impure and purposely obscene.
Patriarchy is nothing more than a golden door,
painted on a wall,
which is that seemingly invisible wall that separates us
from the day that never comes:
The day Patriarchy dies, as a valid religious icon.
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