Best Philomela Poems

Blessed be the hour when angels
shake my filth off their wings.
The night was a garden of eyes*.
Luckily, days are blind.

Mute with the sinful obsession,
deaf to the call of blood,
I look forward to the next night 
coming, burning with shame.


* “The Blue Bouquet” by Octavio Paz.

Philomela,...

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I must be dreaming. Alas, through 
every dream, like pain through 
anesthesia, a torturous 
reality shows up.

A burning taste of jealousy. 
A blind deaf muteness of 
lust… I think I’d better add more 
rosemary in the roast.

Procne, daughter of the king of Athens, is a...

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