Tuesday, March 6, 2018

Maha manav


The man who does not know sick women does not know women.
I try to describe this long limitation, hoping that with such power as is now mine, and such use of language as is within that power, this will convince any one who cares about it that this “living” of mine had been done under heavy handicap……

A Word dropped careless on a Page
May stimulate an eye
When folded in perpetual seam
The Wrinkled Maker lie
Infection in the sentence breeds
We may inhale Despair
At distenses of centuries
From the Malaria----

I stand on the ring
in the dead city
and tie on the red shoes
….
They are not mine,
they are my mother’s,
her mother’s before,
handed down like an heirloom
but hidden like shameful letters.
-          Anne_Sexton
xoxo

No comments:

Post a Comment