Sunday, December 23, 2012

Poem: Spice

At home:

He sees
Slender slices of onion
perfectly tanned

He tastes
Tamarinds dancing
the tango on his tongue

All seasoned with her loving glances
served by her pampering hands


In some dark alley:

He sees
Red-hot chilli powder
igniting his eyes

He tastes
Pepper sprays
evoking helpless tears

Flavoured with her contempt
Served by hands ready to smother him
If he even thinks of pouncing on her
Again.

We women are not born to be imprisoned within the walls of the kitchen. We have the freedom to go wherever we want to, and men cannot rape us into submission. If you hurt us, we WILL strike back.

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