The second time I stopped believing in God,
I realized there has been always been
Something in me which had never let me down.
Something which had forged my identity,
Unravelled myself up in ecstasy and
And brought me as close as it could, to godhood.
Hence, I sang to Lady V,
The goddess of many names and
Secrecies, loathed and beloved in equal
Measure, right from when she was built
As figurine, all breast and majestic, welcoming pubis.
With no facer nor eyes, to her new counterpart,
Insinuating, pressing herself behind a thin
Veil in Instagram.
Like many a deity before, she has
Been humiliated, mutilated, her blood
Seen as a magical force, to some for good,
To others for wrong. As Kali, there are those
Who fear her power, and like her, she can change
A person to a point of death and rebirth, many a
Non-believer curling his toes and screaming for god,
Any god, when being enveloped by her.
She’s Aphrodite, demanding her lovers to be on
Their knees and kiss her with every kiss ever written,
From the sweet lick of the humming bird to the ravenous
Mouthful of a tiger. She is the portal to the cavern
Of life, where she baptized me a goddess of creation,
Demeter gestating her Persephone, the sun and the moon
Coming together to spark a new being in the darkness of
My womb. As the followers of other rites, hers have suffer
Persecution, dissolution, diminution, execution,
Brain washing, even.
And yet, it is her who give us our remarkable attribution,
Our identity, and under her aegis we are all sisters, from
La Patagonia to Tasmania, as we still discover
her mysteries, hidden behind de revulsion and false revolution,
Those who fear her have cover her beauty with.
The second time I stopped believing in God, I recognized the deity in me.
So now I sing to my vagina:
Goddess, Creatrix, the mirror I identify with.
Ode to Lady V, Divine Regina, Benedicta, eternally,
Mother, lover, woman, warrior, crone,
The badge of honour that unites half of world.