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.