Wounded Maenad Poem by Simpa Omoluabi

White dove silenced
with a leaved olive stem,
standing on a fissured headstone,

watching a chorus drunken
in the act watching

a Maenad dancing out of text.

Grains shipped on windy transits,
Maenad dancing into me,
to make conceive.

Life goes on since we are
addicted to breed;
the eye does not get accustomed to sleep,
man cannot getused to the wonder of the loin.

As your eyes cannot watch over sleep
Maenad you can't watchover ‘gainst me,
withhold against me.

Bleeding salt searching for wounds,
Maenad, salt of a world, painfully inspired,
you salt your wounds.

Salt makes sweet, preserves, but cannot heal,
instead deepens the bright wound.
Taste and see my wine is good.

The injured cannot love you,
so I relinquished an earnest hope
to even a past for to be fit for love.

Copyright © 2010 Wounded Maenad by Simpa Omoluabi