Sunday, June 16, 2013


Under the quotidian immersed and congealed
She, prim or iconoclastic nurses dreams
While her masculine counterparts pass by, unregarding
As profuse verses unfurl like reams.

Circumscribed, into patterns that preordain
The fatality of being seen before read
looking for a historical continuum
All she encounters is a male canon, the living dead.

Though laterally, her counterparts irradiate
The filaments of the august world of sonnets
She, inveigled into giving her femininity representation
Has, all along, a bee in her bonnet.

She pens, creates, moves on, diffuse
While discarding the male tradition's refuse

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