Pardon us, for having done the folly
Of being in this earth as women!
If there is a god, that god will feel guilty
When he identifies how we suffer, with
Our mute desires and passions, with fortitude.
Once we were the springs of passion to the poets;
We were goddesses for lovers who fancied us.
We were cast on their chests as favourite toys,
And were being fondled, as objects of pleasure.
We were laying our heads on their laps; hearing
Their whispers, encharming us with their flatteries.
When we woke up and realized we were hungry
For food, you threw stones at us, and called us prostitutes.
We are Mary Magdalenes seeking Jesus Christ,
To sit at his feet, yearning to wash his feet
With our tears, and anoint him with the fragrant
Spikenard oil, before the crucifixion.
We are the modern Mary Magdalenes……
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