My body is not your battleground
My body is not your battleground My breasts are neither wells nor mountains, neither Badr nor Uhud My breasts do not want to lead revolutions nor to become prisoners of war My breasts seek amnesty: release them so I can glory in their milktipped fullness, so I can offer them to my sweet love without your flags and banners on them My body is not your battleground My hair is neither sacred nor cheap, neither the cause of your disarray nor the path to your liberation My hair will not bring progress and clean water if it flies unbraided in the breeze It will not save us from our attackers if it is wrapped and shielded from the sun Untangle your hands from my hair so I can comb and delight in it, so I can honor and annoint it, so I can spill it over the chest of my sweet love My body is not your battleground My private garden is not your tillage My thighs are not highway lanes to your Golden City My belly is not the store of your bushels of wheat My womb is not the cradle of your soldiers, not the ship of your journey to the homeland Leave me to discover the lakes that glisten in my green forests and to understand the power of their waters Leave me to fill or not fill my chalice with the wine or honey of my sweet love Is it your skin that will tear when the head of the new world emerges? My Body is not Your Battleground How dare you put your hand where I have not given permission Has God, then, given you permission to put your hand there? My body is not your battleground Withdraw from the eastern fronts and the western Withdraw these armaments and this siege so that I may prepare the earth for the new age of lilac and clover, so that I may celebrate this spring the pageant of beauty with my sweet love. Mohja Kahf (via, fra samlingen Emails from Scheherazad).