the song of the sea

Race and class identity create differences in quality of life, social status, and lifestyle that take precedence over the common experience women share.

bell hooks, Feminist Theory: From Margin to Center

Written as part of a summer assignment for the MA Gender, Media and Culture course at Goldsmiths University of London 2021-2022. Inspired by the quote above.

the king shouts from across the deck

“take a good look, men!”

a storm rages over the wreck

for the honour you defend.

three sheets to the wind!

the men say

in victory, we return!

and they shall sing and they shall prance -

o the glory we have earned.

crack 'er open!

the men say

the race has just begun!

barrels of wine with a feast to pair

- a true celebration

the king calls on his concubine

"a woman like no other"

skin that looked and felt like snow

and a smile like the perfect summer

day after day night after night

the seige raged on! an unimaginable plight -

she waits in my quarters and to her arms I return

the comfort of a good woman

outside the sky splits!

like a dagger through the heart -

a deafening growl

then thorns rained down

and the night now forlorn

“there’s a crack in the hull!”

shouts the watchman from the mast

and then the celebration ends.

suddenly alerted, charged the men

against a piercing blast

the king, leading the pack,

rushed out into the tempest

their vessel broke in harrowing pain

for deluge births a deafening silence

can you hear that?

the deckhand asks as he approached the edge

a song so loud and resonant

but all who hear it is dead

walk the plank and there you see

women of dark energy

come hither, come hither whispers she

and you shall drown in anarchy

they hear the song! they do, they see!

sing the women in the sea

the concubine and the deckhand jump!

much to the dismay of the king

one day, a storm may rage

our vessel may break

and leave behind a wreck

hear the song of the sea

the sea of people

of people like you and me

hear it from them

hear their story

honour the song of the sea

in perpetuum

whence all the winds are silent,

and all the rain are fallen,

and all we hear are the songs of sirens:

so oft! I think of you —

You had hoped that, by this time, you would have everything sorted out.

The train would arrive at its stop and you would step into the most beautiful, variegated landscape life had to offer. The clouds would whisk into a comforting blend as the sun’s rays danced upon rich verdure. Hills were abound, as were flowers. Then, from the corner of your eyes, you would see a charming little cottage resting atop the highlands. It would sing of fresh, warm bread.

And there would be music.

You wanted to believe that, if there were a time and place for everything, then everything would have its own time and place. You wanted to believe that there exists an extraordinary serenity – a solace so pure and gratifying that it was free of anguish, misery and torment.

Yet, life’s greatest rewards did not come without trial. She had her own method of distillation. She eliminated those who did not prove themselves worthy to bask in her sunlight. She threw at you one expectation after the other, and those who failed her test were the ones who let her challenges overwhelm them.

She sees you.

You fought. You did. You climbed over much of the obstructions in your way. There had been many a trough of despair but you escaped nonetheless. You have the lacerations to prove it.

She sees you.

She sees your body.

She sees your soul.

And you bleed.

And you burn.

And you swallow the noise of the world.

O, detachment in the air today:

’tis calling for me!

like oasis on the Sahara

I am entwined —

And there would be music.

originally published: 7 Mar 2019

green monster

a browning rose;

a sitting horse;

shallow waters

and shades of grey –

O, halcyon! Great twilight, ascend

now! reveal the balmy veil – Aegis of dawn!

If we see Dante, nel mezzo del cammin di nostra vita,

it would be, merely,

a r e f l e | ɔ ƚ i o n of

what would have been.

I have grown unsure of my own self, strangely

yet the tightening of the red string of fate, (our fate?)

I feel – infallibly. impeccably.

Gaze upon her gait – I admire

your voice, a song, the whispers of nymphs.

’tis playing field, en٨inɘyardɘd thus –

You were enough.

beep beep beep

b e e p b e e p b e e p

beep beep beep

there you lay –

i hear the silent marble walls scream

O, pretty shade of red,

my dear – I fear me, too rightfully.

they do spoil their little darling.

how coruscant, scintillating as aurora, you are

picture of perfection. sight for sore eyes.

no more. none of this; no time for gewgaw.

all bagatelle.

i have awaken from solecism and culpability.

dulce, grandeur, ángelos –

by your side, i place a browning rose

there you lay, by a sitting horse

to the north, shallow waters painted grey –

i will place you on a keel.

i will wear your skin.

they will call your name.

O, halcyon.

originally published: 4 May 2017