were we looking for the feminine of our soft hands no questioning the nature of daylight is wonder, we feel it in our touch we know the ancient art of cartography: love memory death quivers deltas of tears we taste the starvation of breath the magnitude of gratitude
we kept the drum of hearts alight to catch the waves of time Anna's drum summoned Shiva, the master of shiver the god of blood carrying sage scent in our hair forgotten paths in our shapes pink lotus flowers in our wombs bold desires in our feet tales of flames in each scar
we recognise each other greet with a soul reverence across time across space we forgive ouselves our betrayals violations of a feminine truth we wait for the men we love we set ourselves free from the spinning wheel of pain
we receive we keep what is alive what is dead still not born in refused bodies: the possibility of kindness
we are women we are dancers we sing fiercely, gently from the chest of the moon
dedicated to J, A, S, A, S, M, I, A, B, A with gratitude it's wonderful to come together
What is a woman? She is too much . Too much joy, like her heart is a bird which beats wildly against the cage of her chest, (the cage Adam gave her, keeping her together) Too much pain to contain alone, a tether To the hands of those who might abuse her . Too unrestrained in love that it spills into the world freely, unknowing of the price Too free in this jealous world, that seeks to condemn what it cannot consume, Ex lovers, or demons she dare not exhume . Too much place in her skin, too much shine in each tress Too much space in her limbs, so she must become less So much beauty and life, to love and to touch She knows what she wants, a little too much . Too tender to be broken, so she must become tough
Not yet, she did not show up, didn't rhyme playing her headline acts on the face of earth. Donned in the body born on Earth a new soul is the flesh and bone part of it or its Earth's own? She didn't take it with a pinch of salt, came with her own.
Clustering 360 degrees around it Earth draws closer Holy smoke, eyes are on the pristine mirror of herself! The sun raises the candle in east to the west but it won’t expose, a name is treasured in the chest!
Playing chiaroscuro beyond the rainbow’s end the Earth with her painting in light and dark let alone connecting the dots it couldn't bag her footprint even at her death.
A millennium and half passed masses still wish finding her grave wasn't like painting the wind. Not a firefly nor a butterfly in Medina knows it where yet a name generation after generation is a buzz! Sayeedatun Nessa, the feminine Queen in Paradise, Fathima shifted the feminine mystique from Earth enwrapped back into heaven veiled and intact the wonder is now paradise’s gold dust!