Looking back at my old notes, I realised the intensity of spiritual feminism in my veins.
A poem I framed 5 years ago.
In the search of some questions
I had this notion…
That who makes so much of commotion?
The one who is behind a tree?
Or the one who condemned me to be free…
Is she the one present everywhere?
Oh yes! I asked my mind.
I can see her, here and there.
She is the wind , she is the creature
But not like us, the miniatures.
She is the one who runs the wheel and the wound healer…