Pashtun Provenance
A cloak-and-dagger dance around honor
Singing lowly to no one, she puffs her blue burqa
This pot I boil is much like me
A meal of warmed flesh waiting for a hunger to feed
There is mystery under the moon
Your eyes can't adjust as night unveils my aroma
Pashtun men think they know these women
But like Russians in the 80's they see enigma
My lover gives me beast and beauty
Body and soul, for his love, I am like Fatima
To imply that I have not free will
She said, is to say a plant is a better manna
What faint whisper reaches heavenward
Lets God know his daughter has no more paranoia
The IED you dug by moonlight
Flowered that little boy stuck now in my retina
My life is my heart, painted on skin
I brush myself to express inner soul with henna
Landays belong to no one old man
Without pencil or stick, free thought overcomes dogma
Rebellion simmers underneath you
Grind as you might, the pestle only brings forth flour
I am a woman of my homeland
That tradition and family make my persona
© Goode Guy 2013-07-07
Landay - 2 line / 9 then 13 syllables / many end "ma" or "na"
http://www.poetryfoundation.org/media/landays.html
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