They worshipped him,
the 'Light bringer'
who chased beams across the sky,
golden chariot blazing,
the harbinger of warmth.
Even the moon
wears his reflection,
basking in the borrowed silk.
But I was born of the Earth
and Sky,
christened with the crowns
of above and below,
finding loveliness in pomegranates;
their blood red juice
staining my lips,
speaking the wisdom
of snowdrops.
They idolize the sweetness
of summer,
the thrill of the hunt,
dancing with grasshoppers
in wide-legged denim,
middle parts lined like August's geometry.
Laughter curls in my throat,
purring deep amongst the graves I've planted
with flowers.
A thousand daffodils will bloom again
in clay where a thousand silvered tears
are wept.
What beauty can be found
in a star
without the inky stillness
of the pressing dark?
You worshipped the sun,
and do not see the beauty
embodied in my night.