Inspired by Isaiah. 54
Now I drink pain in delight
And poison in every wine;
As the stars look desolately
Down at me, like a book
Better judged by its cover.
I’m disdained by the winds.
Even the faintest of it ravels
My little breath to quail
At this fluttering life of desires
Trickling down the side of time.
My pillows fife and absorbs all grief.
My sleep paints the blackest face of sorrow;
Untainted, raw, and urgent
As I pour the tears of my primal wish
Into bowls of hypertensive prayers.
I’ve longed with a balm of woe
To have a child weaned by my hands.
To share in the thrill of this common will
Makes me cry as if bereaved of it already
With want to reach dust more ardent.
My breasts awaits with no hope
To be milked by the tongue of a baby—
A child broken out of me in my prime time
(For I bethought me, have I not enlarged
My tent and my chords in vain? Have I not
Strengthen my stakes and stretched my curtains?).
O Lord! Maker and redeemer of time
Where art Thou?! For as you have called me a woman,
You will not forsake my grieved and broken spirit.
Come here and now! Make known your good will
For I long to travail with child and my mouth
Yearns to sing aloud with joy and love.
©Simeon Elvis Dumle