The Gift of Mortality – by Lydia Durunguma

At birth, I was offered the gift of mortality

I accepted, unaware of its fatality

Although not of my own volition

How could it have been? I knew not of its imposition


Now that the mist have found a home on my windows

And the camel rests on my back

Now that deflated is my milk sack

And oxygen through a tube my lung borrows


I think I should have rejected that gift.


Grey sings a swan song to the black of my mane

The red sky is clear: up my thighs, it has stopped to rain

Control of my own body I cannot regain.

I look in the mirror and there, right there comes an afterglow

Praises for my beauty were once an arroyo

Now I see beauty that crumples in a furrow


Will I give to have it all again?

To go back and experience the beauty, the chaos, the youthful pleasure and pain?

In this world- no and no

In a world where it doesn’t have to go dark before it does rain

And it doesn’t have to burn before the ashes yield fruitful gain

Yes and yes.