Yesterday:
I visited a maternity ward
to rejoice with a mother over her new child.
I went to an abortion center
to see a girl who aborted a baby.
I made my way to a war zone
to commiserate with a raped woman.
Today:
I meet the mother in the market
and she says she is a vestal virgin.
I see the abortionist in a school play ground
and she vows she is Diana.
I meet the raped woman by a riverside
and she swears she is Lucretia.
Now:
I go to the woods and strike a meditative pose.
I am not thinking of Nirvanas
neither am I dreaming of Abraham’s bosom.
But of the affairs of yesterday.
I keep asking myself:
“Why are all the women playing virgin?”
I visited a maternity ward
to rejoice with a mother over her new child.
I went to an abortion center
to see a girl who aborted a baby.
I made my way to a war zone
to commiserate with a raped woman.
Today:
I meet the mother in the market
and she says she is a vestal virgin.
I see the abortionist in a school play ground
and she vows she is Diana.
I meet the raped woman by a riverside
and she swears she is Lucretia.
Now:
I go to the woods and strike a meditative pose.
I am not thinking of Nirvanas
neither am I dreaming of Abraham’s bosom.
But of the affairs of yesterday.
I keep asking myself:
“Why are all the women playing virgin?”