There's an odd familiarity in
recognizing one's own shadow,
not that pundits, patriarchs
and protagonists select one photon
of evidence over the other. A woman
in a burka, no matter its colour, usually
doesn't consider herself exploited,
dominated or persecuted though she may
be hotter than hell.

Have you ever heard the night desert
in the silence of its dunes, the figs and
the pomegranates whispering like old friends?

Have you noticed how the jasmine scent walking
behind you
unwraps old wounds, like layers of silk?

The day will come when Slutwalkers
and the Women of the Burka will meet,
link arms and walk down every street,
throw away all societal predilection to reveal
the only truth: only women
can give birth, and no man has ever had
this power.

The serpent is a lonely creature and speaks
to anyone who will listen.