Moments of Inspiration

There are moments when the inspiration strikes me in the middle of the most inconvenient times, and the voice of God of Creativity compels me to write. So I have to drop everything, wherever I am, and obey; otherwise, the inspiration will disappear as quickly as it came.

I am in the middle of cleaning my house, specifically on the verge washing the living room, my mind is clouded and distressed after a fight with my husband, when the Voice commands me. So I drop everything and turn on the computer and write this blog entry, because if I don't, the precious chance to write will pass on, and I will be left again with self-hatred for not being able to write a single meaningful word.

The Voice commands me to write about gratitude to God of Creativity, and here I am. I am grateful that in the midst of inner turmoil and self-doubt, you have granted me the ideas to write the blog about wine, and the blog about the analysis of my cultural identity. You provided me with the titles, The Wine Girl, one night while I was falling asleep, and Un-American Moments, where else - on the toilet, which is my usual place to come up with the most brilliant ideas.

Every day, I have a fight with myself in my head, and every day, there's a nasty loud voice of fear and doubt, and every day, I have to conquer it, but most of the time, I just ignore it, and let it drone on and on, while I type my new blog post, or write in my journal, or jot down some mediocre poetic lines. I just keep going, knowing, that besides my sister, few friends, and God of Creativity, no one really cares what I have to say.

But I can't disobey the Voice. So I am writing, without any hope for any outcome at all. I just write because I have something to say, and if I don't say it, it will eat me alive from within.

A Woman's Prayer/ War Cry

A poem of two parts or two separate entities, I haven't decided. But the same topic, nevertheless.



I want to enter
the world of harmony and beauty
of the human heart.

The world
free of men and their petty
squabbles,
their envy, hatred, polluting
the sanctity
of Mother Earth's belly.

The world
where my sisters, mothers, daughters
cleanse in the same pool of tears
for millennia.

The world
where the size of love
is not equal
to the blow of a fist
a husband bestows
on his betrothed.

The world
not ruled by
the unzipped ego.
Where no one thinks of me
as a seductress, bitch or whore.

The world
where my worth
is not measured by
the size of my breasts,
the number of my offspring,
or the purity of my intact
hymen.

The world where there's
no class, no power,
no better, no worse.

The world where I can be
myself
and bask in my own
womanhood.

My strength
My weakness
My gentleness
My courage

My freedom.

******

I don't want to be
a prize to win,
a beauty to protect.

I don't want to live
for my father's pride,
or brother's virtue,
but only for myself.

I am me,
same as anyone else -
a collection of cells,
emotions,
and stardust.