The Song of a Woman

Living with my lipstick and this black kohl liner
One hundred and eight images portrayed in a lone mirror
Delightful with antics I learn at birth — to jostle, cajole and please
Still never to frown at your silliest remark

Tied to a flowing chupa with colorful patterns of gold
I am a thousand voices, subdued in a mere whisper
Odd sighs, eternal waits, half-crazed, delirious —
Do you hear me? — Will you hear me?

Let the vision travel beyond the silhouette of this mortal form
Piercing these cracks of desire into another realm —
Where you and I stand naked, under the translucent light
Human in our needs, equal in our birth.

Press closer — do you dare? Can you hear my soul flutter?
See these purple veins crackle, my spirit enter and leave
Somewhere between bardo and the peripheral edge of life
Clinging to dear life, confined in the abyss …

Half human, half savage, this beast of a woman — the cause of your woe
You are quite right — she’ll never be a Buddha.

See my other roam along the shores of Jhang Namtso
Amongst the specks of yak-haired tents, tight, claustrophobic holes
Would there ever be room — to write, to think, to flourish and to live
Or will this drag on like a timeless work?

A creation of the maddening sense, plunged beneath the subconscious
A ghost of a woman, murdered by her genius.


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