Poetry: O People / A Woman

O People

O people, do not complain of the injury,
nor prolong your wailing over it —
had you not been wounded by your own hands,
we would have bound up your wounds.
You yourselves picked the men who rule you
and awaited your well-being through them,
and behold, they drape your sash
over the baseness of their world.
How many times they broke their pledges to you
and drank, with your consent, your wine —
does your breast run with the wounds they gave,
and still you hand them your weapon?
Had you not known them, excuse
would go begging your pardon!

* * *

My grief for you! Is it thus
you fold your wing over humiliation?
Had you not given away your love — the heights
of life — it would never have violated you.

A Woman

Have you disowned me? The fragrance of love
and its glow still linger on my bleeding lips.
Is it thus that what was between us dissolves,
and the bliss of my days comes to an end?
How often I walked in your track while you
took no notice, the road brimming with my dreams;
and how often you turned to look — and how long
you knew me by the fall of my footsteps.

* * *

You passed me by today, and not one smile
from you — for my purity, or for my sins!