No century’s visionaries could have foretold
The pity and rainbows and men’s cries and gold
For the cries we emit are only our own
And just as they silenced the man praising God
The will silence the woman with a cry of her own
A cry which no one will understand until they have trekked Odysseys through her eyes
and on her two legs,
Starved for the love and starved for the justice,
Screaming and crying in the undying cruelty of our age
And in our own unforgiving realm,
That which we created.
