A metaphor re-interpreted.

Sexclusion - You can keep your garden.

A statue guards the gate
of the beguiling garden
with its fascinating plants,
heavy trunks,
leaves that seek
for the light
(of knowledge?)
and flavorsome fruits,
forbidden food
(for thought?).

Here I am,
not made of clay
or some man's rib
- there must be a mistake:
my integrity was lost
in translation -.

So I became a character
in an old fable,
feeble, of course,
temptation-prone,
unfit for the throne,
dirty from birth.

I am the dangerous belly-dancer.
Funny how, from a rib,
I became a mistress
that sensuously moves her hips
- divine desire.

An outcast
- frowned upon
by a huge man in the clouds -
bound to look for a cave or a castle
and become somebody's maid or princess.

Hey, I am not the only one.
I met Lilith
in the marsh,
deep wrinkles on her cheeks,
her voice,
an ax on a piece of wood,
(s)exiled, broken,
giving birth to monsters
for being a woman on top.

Heathen,
I left the garden of Eden
and now keep the knowledge
right where it belongs:
deep-rooted in my brain,
steady, ready
for a fight that lasts
and a road
so lonely, it terrifies me.

But I am a woman
and won't let others define
what is feminine.

I am velvet and stone,
so many times re-born
just to become myself,
more and more so.

I left that garden
as a refuge
for the weak at heart.