Dramatic Poetry
Written by Touria Nakkouch
Musings before Birth
"In a month at most" says the doctor,
As he deals bold, hygienic tappings
To the roof of my dark dwelling
"A fine baby girl you will deliver!"
A first shock! Water stiffened around me
And the reeling filament almost stifled me.
Is it merry excitement I now exhort?
Sharing already my sisters' playground
Or is it something else- an itching of sorts-
Being born a female in a male abode?
My first thought! The unsure present I am to be born in
And the happy past where my mother and I have been
How I had kicked and kicked
Gliding that harness binding me to her
How I had danced to her uneven notes
Impatient to discover the world out there!
How I had dared the taut walls of my concavity
Until, from joy or pain, I heard her shout
How I had dared the world I was to be born into
In friendly fingers that kept daring me out!
I had felt my power surge in loud protests
Deadened only by the aquatic end of my assent:
Clear the way for me; I shall oceans and deserts ride,
And carry my virtues and sins and those of my race, beside!
But now that the erudite claim has been made
I am no longer sure: to step out or stay behind?
I know that world I am supposed to be born in,
I heard it in my mother's - and sisters'- sobbing
I heard it in the sneers of those who shall, I am sure,
For greed or concepts, hurt me with tact and tenure.
I sensed it in conflicts resolved at my expense;
In wars waged in my name, out of sheer nonsense.
I would rather make the rest of the journey across
As simply me, unique, indivisible, genderless
I would rather be given means and the right
To choose what cause to guard; what war to fight.
O God, I am not yet born and
It will take the world and time to be;
Let them not decide of my becoming.
I need oceans of love and infinite humility
To lift the architecture of my sinking world
Let them not decide of its becoming.
O God let me out free or else
Freeze me into one of those Eternal Sleepers
Who stay on in their liquid innocence
Until they die or till man's madness ends.
A Dialogue of Body and Spirit
(My)Body:
Most tedious stuff! How weary I am, inside and out
Of this master of illusions who constantly plays me down!
This Opera phantom that secretly sets his invisible strings
To ensnare with style what to me happy providence brings.
Why should I remain captive of this acrobat of negation?
I, the mistress of fire; the rider of unbridled sensation?
I make jokes, I make love; I craft revolutions and balance;
I will not see my self ruined by one who is its very essence!
I refuse to work as slave for a spirit as grand as he is mean
I who, upon his many ruses, am the proclaimed drab queen!
(My) Spirit:
Who speaks there? Who is this fool whose sleep I disturb?
This mistress of nought claiming my unique title of lord?
You, your haughty air, small laughter, and many a tear
Will not amount to much without me: your spiritual peer.
As there is a time for every sharp sword to rust and decay,
As there is a time for every great empire to spawn its fall,
So mother earth will hug at length your glory and dismay;
Your bulk, inflated by small victories, will shrink to small.
Bodies are only herbs that grow, blossom, and fade,
Hard polishing wears out the most tempered blade!
Body:
I labour, I toil; I strike now with my fists now with the glaive;
I should be queen in my home, not in that of my foe a slave!
You, dishonest bastard, are never there when I really need you.
You lure me into half-truths and forbid all my nature is drawn to.
You make, name; you camouflage or condemn my every desire;
You pretend that, to save my soul, my damnation you must hire?
You claim that you can move from body to body like thin air
Obtaining me purgation through some sort of transmigration;
Liar! Unless to my senses, affections and faculties you adhere
You are fated to the aging, forlorn immortality of your prison!
Spirit:
I admit I am indebted to you for giving me a form to live in
As sphere with intelligence, as Grecian Urn with Hellenic soul;
As cheap as may be the bowl for storing honey in,
Yet, it is pretty precious for the content of the bowl!
But you tire me out, chain me, and torment my immunity
With the diseases and cures of which your world is made:
You are prone to conflict, and to change you yield pitiably;
You force me on with you; I, whom no change can invade.
You fall in love, out of it; you fall ill; you're always akin to fall!
And you use your pathetic blackmail on me. I 'm sick of it all!
Body:
O spirit! Be not upset; nor about our distinct roles be deceived;
We both have a failing for Man, regardless of either worth or breed.
By God and like Him we're made; by love and Truth we are bound;
We vary as lasting from brief; but differ only as syllable from sound.
As to love, love's mysteries grow as fecund in you as by a brook,
But love's writ and truth's too- mind you - need me as their book!
Spirit:
So, body, let us exist in peace, mutual tolerance and harmony,
I stirring you to prayer, you stirring me to a bit of jolly company.
And if you happen to loose sight of me and go for material riches,
If you go blind or deaf and drink your drop from impure ditches,
I shall let you be, for in these things you have as little choice,
As myself, in not going amiss or loosing my honourable poise.
Body:
Let us stand together and by the laws of both nature and heaven abide!
Spirit:
To part ways would be as wrong as to separate a mother from her child!
