When the Sky Turned Crimson
They wrote poems and epics about her.
About her silk dresses and flower crowns.
And about how kind and loving she is.
About how they named rivers and mountains after her.
Also about how they fantasize about her.
Even they name her in delicious ways.
They speak of her in godly languages.
They all drool over her, put their hands in her body
As if plunging into layers of holiness.
They decorate her with Lilies and ask for her blessings.
Later when the darkness lurks,
All the flowers beneath her feet turns
Black, bruised and smells tobacco.
They call her child, so fondly
And rob her of her innocence
Then gift her the drugged nightmares.
They do not speak of her blood thirsty tongue
When they pin her down and cover her mouth.
They do not speak of her rages
When she would pull the rain from the clouds.
They do not even mention about the anger in her veins
When they caress her like cowards.
They thought they could lock her in their grasp,
But her sword is sharp.
Her heart is made of burning flames.
They are afraid to speak of how she laughed
when the monster fell from the sky.
In a golden plume, with his head twisted back and
Yelled into the winds, arms wide spread.
They don't tell you how
She scorches his skin and ran her sword
Down his throat, his thighs, his ankles, his feet.
They are too scared to see how
Death breathed in his dying eyes.
And how she danced as the cosmos around her
Span and echoed her laughter.
And the sky turned Crimson.
TELL YOUR GIRLS WHAT THEY DIDN'T,
All these years.
Tell them that the battleground is deadly
But they can wear blood gently.
And this was always their nature to be.
Nature to fight against the filthy monsters.
Nature to give light in the dark and
To shatter when needed.
Tell your little girl that
She can wear a crown;
Not like a fairy, but
Like a Goddess.
Picture credits: Google and the artist
Early childhood Educator and Blogger ( When You Think About It, @WYTAIWITHSUGAN)