Nightmare number 3

Nightmare number 3
by jamh

Grasping for air,
my bane of morning,
I suddenly wake up.

I know I'm responding
to my quick heartbeats
as running in my sleep,

but knowing doesn't help
in the night bazaar
that I've just ran in.

I was made of speed.
Making the right turns
to the domed keep

of oil lamps hissing
at cinnamon body odors,
the crowd elongated,

making their hurried way
in a blur of chadors,
frowns, tiny colors.

The shapes chasing me
do so silently
in the alleyway.

What did I do this time?
Was it the love song?
The book I borrowed?

The length of my skirt?
My violent hair?
Or my stark nakedness?

Cornered, I claw viciously
at their righteousness,
at their holy sanctity,

I grow, I stamp on houses,
wiping towns, dams, fields,
fucking mountains.

My deranged laughter
in high-pitched harmony
with my nails outdrawn.

I've broken my chains.
You timidly want war?
I want it all gone.



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Thank you Red

by jamh on

It is a typo in my original file.



very nice. just one

by CallmeRed on

very nice.

just one thing, wasn't it better to say "Gasping for air"?



by jamh on

Dedicated to the Iranian Woman.