At The Gate Of A Hospital

Paul McCarthy, Mannequin Head, 1995, Courtesy The Dakis Joannou Collection, Athens.

Lo! Who is being down loaded,
From the ambulance,
Covered with the bed sheet,
All spotted with blood,
And now tossing for life?
Her swollen belly portends,
That it contains a pre-born babe.
Oh! They tell she has been shot,
By her husband: the crown of head,
For not affording,
The substance for drink;
She was spared no more,
Though six children she bore.

Lo! Who has been brought,
Lying on the cot,
All scratched, nailed,
Bitten and torn,
As if the dogs,
Have exercised well their skill,
In the same way,
When they prey upon the deer?
Oh! They say she was raped,
By the men twelve,
They let loose appetite,
Of their bestial nature,
They always remained unpunished,
In the plagued system.
Now the cameramen zoom around,
For the public display,
To rag her remaining honour,
And a few men of law,
With the heavy round bellies,
Move helplessly.

Lo! Who has been brought,
Wrapped in a blanket,
With singed, burnt face,
Too horrible to see,
Shreds from her arms,
Are lurking loose,
Making the bones naked,
Yet she breathes,
Huffing like a furnace,
Her eyes exhibit,
Display a state of horror?
Oh! They tell she was burnt,
For restraining, preventing,
The husband: the guardian,
From fourth love marriage.

~ Shahida Latif

At The Gate Of A Hospital

Paul McCarthy, Mannequin Head, 1995, Courtesy The Dakis Joannou Collection, Athens.

Lo! Who is being down loaded,
From the ambulance,
Covered with the bed sheet,
All spotted with blood,
And now tossing for life?
Her swollen belly portends,
That it contains a pre-born babe.
Oh! They tell she has been shot,
By her husband: the crown of head,
For not affording,
The substance for drink;
She was spared no more,
Though six children she bore.

Lo! Who has been brought,
Lying on the cot,
All scratched, nailed,
Bitten and torn,
As if the dogs,
Have exercised well their skill,
In the same way,
When they prey upon the deer?
Oh! They say she was raped,
By the men twelve,
They let loose appetite,
Of their bestial nature,
They always remained unpunished,
In the plagued system.
Now the cameramen zoom around,
For the public display,
To rag her remaining honour,
And a few men of law,
With the heavy round bellies,
Move helplessly.

Lo! Who has been brought,
Wrapped in a blanket,
With singed, burnt face,
Too horrible to see,
Shreds from her arms,
Are lurking loose,
Making the bones naked,
Yet she breathes,
Huffing like a furnace,
Her eyes exhibit,
Display a state of horror?
Oh! They tell she was burnt,
For restraining, preventing,
The husband: the guardian,
From fourth love marriage.

~ Shahida Latif

Fire

Photo credit: priyanphoenix from morguefile.com

What makes a fire burn
is space between the logs,
a breathing space.
Too much of a good thing,
too many logs
packed in too tight
can douse the flames
almost as surely
as a pail of water would.

So building fires
requires attention
to the spaces in between,
as much as to the wood.

When we are able to build
open spaces
in the same way
we have learned
to pile on the logs,
then we can come to see how
it is fuel, and absence of the fuel
together, that make fire possible.

We only need to lay a log
lightly from time to time.
A fire
grows
simply because the space is there,
with openings
in which the flame
that knows just how it wants to burn
can find its way.

~ Judy Brown

Fire

Photo credit: priyanphoenix from morguefile.com

What makes a fire burn
is space between the logs,
a breathing space.
Too much of a good thing,
too many logs
packed in too tight
can douse the flames
almost as surely
as a pail of water would.

So building fires
requires attention
to the spaces in between,
as much as to the wood.

When we are able to build
open spaces
in the same way
we have learned
to pile on the logs,
then we can come to see how
it is fuel, and absence of the fuel
together, that make fire possible.

We only need to lay a log
lightly from time to time.
A fire
grows
simply because the space is there,
with openings
in which the flame
that knows just how it wants to burn
can find its way.

~ Judy Brown