the full morning was sunless,
like a premonition
at this hour the rag doll over the bed
cried with me
i looked at my new face
full of colors deemed for adulthood
a veil was silently posed over my curls
and i wanted to run away until lost
maybe i tried but my feet refused to move,
don’t even remember now!
dare not to look at the face of the man
that is taking me away
he laughs and his voice abuses
my senses as if a knife
a horse is restless outside
the drums are beating fast
what is my price apa?
what is my price!!!
Dedicated to girls – brides, for their suffering is a shame to humanity.
LOOK AT ME!
that woman that you see
behind the glass of your eyes,
mauled by your decrees,
is a free woman!
freer than the breath of life
daughter of a memory
and the god of all the immortals
that woman that your hands crumple
and leaves empty your looting for evilness
makes birds flourish into fragrant gardens
plants immensities you will never perceive
that woman of pulsing voice and illuminated spirit
where you could not even name yourself as human
and where you have no right to quench your thirst
for you are neither seed, land, water, time
but your own abjection
that woman, that very same woman,
will leave you sentenced
go after you and call you by your shadow
and under her towering strength
you will lastly succumb!
Dedicated to the women facing discrimination and violence
La mujer como constructora de su propia emancipación.
amid homely dwellings
prayers rooting all possible consolation
inescapably turn into collective amnesia.
girls sentenced before the cold stares
of men claiming the right to own their bodies
bravely survive one more breath
always bifurcated between the memory of laughter
and the numbness of senses, interrupted.
perhaps in the morning, before the vertigo of the tweets,
they figured themselves metamorphosed.
frightened they open their eyes to look at each other
yet another exile awaits, a new outrage or the crying
of a newborn that never felt dear while nestled
in their wombs.
to be hurled into gaps,
barely attaining to decide where to step,
recalling the times in which a book was all possible freedom
and every dream nested between chants and
a new floral printed dress.
now deified forces dishonor their souls
erase all sort of conceived magic
disposed of them as if worthless
never remembering the sanctified moment
in which they were born.
which god gave them the right to steal lives?
one created in their crazy minds to justify bondage?
heavenly justice is so far away
and time elapses as if nonexistent…!
Dedicated to the Nigerian girls abducted by Boko Haram.
Luz María López from Puerto Rico is a writer of poetry, a translator, editor and advocate leading the “World Poetic Front Defending Women’s Rights” (WM).