The Victim - Poem by Marieta Maglas
She saw people praying and using the violence in
the name of religion at the same time, while no
religion is preaching violence. She understood that
this kind of violence was too conflicting for peace, and
yet too diplomatic for war. And that violence no
solution had; nor never none. She thought those
people lived in black light having blind eyes not seeing
the reality of life. She had to accept that this wicked
goodness and this pretty badness belong to our reality
so vixen-like, vexing and hiding so many victimless crimes.
Suddenly, she realized that she could be a new victim.
She started to run while wondering where her safe place was.
She was better than to expect to be caught. She understood
her fear, that fear led to frightening thoughts, those thoughts
leading to panic, that panic leading to derealization. She looked
around trying to recognize the place. She felt worried because she
couldn't see very well. She searched to make a sword of everything
around, but quickly after that, she thought that the swords are the
weapons of warriors, but she's not a warrior, she's a victim. She
started to give praise with idle tears, to give praise with wisdom,
to give praise with deep despair. She asked herself if God is there too
hear her, over those ravages of war overwhelmed by the natural
catastrophes and over the ludicrous effect of their transformation
into nothing. She, firstly, believed her religious man was a fighter
against the enemies of God to conclude that he was an enemy of the real
fighters for God. This man was her husband learning in time to beat her
body and to hurt her soul. She saw herself as a little bleeding part of this
world wondering to know if her man is still the man she fell in love with
once, or he's an illusion. She stopped her run to sit on the ground. She
began to pray hoping that God is there to hear her and to bring a new light
to her crying reality. She stayed there to think how much a rose can
describe a flower, how much a flower can describe a woman, and how
much the feminine can describe many things around.She concluded
that no feminine thing can break this life down. She asked herself,
''What can happen to this world in the absolute absence of the feminine? ''
She found herself an innocent person dreaming in a new world without violence.
Poet's Notes about The Poem
Prose is made of sentences. Poetry is made of lines. Poetry can have sentences as well as lines, but the lines are more important because they make the tune. Enjambment is the name for one of poetry's dance steps. It stops the sentence in its stride, forcing it to dance to poetry's tune. It's the nano-second gap between the end of one line and the beginning of the next, or two nano-seconds between two stanzas. Enjambment is when the sentence jumps the gap between the lines or stanzas.
Comments about The Victim by Marieta Maglas
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
Still I Rise
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Edgar Allan Poe
Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening
A Dream Within A Dream
Edgar Allan Poe