A Field Unharvested

the duality within

I stare at your nudity, Mother– so confident, so elegant. Poised and unbothered.
They say you are the Eternal Truth
I wonder.

They touch you, the flesh between the legs, the thighs and your breasts, as they lift you up on the cart. Your idol is big and heavy, and so many men come forward.
They say a man's true beauty lies in taking responsibility.

Their faces sweat with exhaustion, but they don't back down; they have vowed to carry you and they shall complete it. To some, you are Mother. To the rest, a loving Daughter.

My mind wanders to their hands. Monkey mind.

Lust flashes in front of my mind. Newspaper clips, tempting films
The demon within. The demon without.

I look at my own parts. My womb, my mountains of milk. I cherish my womanhood.

But I don't.

I see the lust inside me, buried but not vanquished, reflect on the demons lurking outside. The same ones who carry you, shall touch a maiden without sanctity. The same night they shall pour wine down their throats in your name. The same night women shall be afraid of staying out late.

Am I that fragile woman, whose parents ask her to be cautious? Yes I am. I am also the man who commits sins. I am both.

Someday, I'll wish to be nothing. And then wish to be you.