I honored the memories by enduring the pain,
I did not numb, I did not run away, I just lived and accepted the torment.
My silence was my honor.
You, however, honored it by drowning yourself in alcohol.
In this new far away place,
Without heart, you perform your 5 daily prayers.
And this is how you show your honor,
Desperate to boost your ego, your faltering sense of ‘pride,’
By buying women, using them to quench your hunger, and discarding them once you’ve eaten their souls.
Oh, an honorable lover indeed.
Foolishly, I once considered our seperation akin to tales of the Great Lovers.
Only to realize, I was the only one mourning.
Oh, what wasted tears.
To realize all that flattery was really a slow, indirect rape.
Cunning foxes always use their charm,
To use others to please their own selfish desires.
Does a fox ever repent for the blood that remains on his teeth?
I will burn, I will accept the humiliation and embrace it,
For pain is ultimately strength, and I fear no longer to endure it.
Unlike you, who fears a drop of despair.
The laws of physics now apply:
“What goes up must come down,”
you have fallen from the pedestal.
And thus, no longer worthy of honor.
The following poem was written by a man, in praise of the scent of his lover:
A Woman’s Scent
That night when my mother
took me to her breasts
I knew woman had a scent
quite different from man’s…
Tonight you still remind me of
my mother’s old fragrance
though you too have your different scent –
a scent entirely your own!
In summer, an aroma of apple juice
envelopes your breasts. In monsoon,
the wet fragrance of wild forest flowers
in your hair. And in the winter,
your arms smacking of honeyed milk
and your lovely feet of jasmines. In spring,
this strong odour of musk in your loins,
and in your navel that faint lavender!
In different seasons, you smell differently.
In different places, you smell differently.
But when I smell you entirely at once,
your scent becomes
an undefinable something!