RR

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I
Am Cupid’s daughter.
Mistake and design begot me.
Under the silver sun,
I brush away my identity.
A few blots here, a few strokes there,
And all the men gather round me.
The people above,
Impeached,
Glare down at me,
Yet, still I dance
And cherish this ineffable circumstance.
I spend the nights
Swinging between restless arms,
Swathed in sordid kisses
And garnished with love bites.
Beyond this place
Of discord and hate,
I move my hips
And feel the night
Gently stroke my face
With the long, dark blades of its fingers.
I go home,
Smelling like a thousand men.
My flamboyance
Lures natural nonconformists
Out of their comfort.
I shake their grounds
With every coaxing sway,
Until I mitigate their pangs
Of unjustified guilt.
Passersby under the sun
Think I’m a harlequin.
But all I am
Is a goddess,
Devoid of coarse remorse.
My very being is nothing
But benign poison.
When the harrowing hour of the dawn strikes,
Ghost-quiet as every truth awakes,
Then,
And only then,
Does my freedom disintegrate
Back into the infinite sunset.
Only then,
Do I see
What they see
Only then,
Just then,
Do I remember,
I am somebody’s son.

Contributor
Joseph Poladian

Joseph Poladian is a 20-year-old student of English literature at the Lebanese University. He has been passionate about the written word ever since he knew what different combinations of the alphabet can do. Being an avid reader, he started writing his own poems and short stories, experimenting with words, genres, and structure.

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