Oya! Lilith! Kali-Ma!
Killers, devourers, bitches all!
For 5,000 years you fought
Against the tsunami of woman- and goddess-bashing
Dark Mother, Angry Mother
Your stories have been white-washed beyond recognition.
Why shouldn’t your hearts be enraged
By the persecution of your children?
Why shouldn’t we be enraged
When we are pushed aside as unimportant
(and yet we’re expected to smile as our shackles are tightened)?
FUCK this world we allowed to be created!
I no longer believe in the vapidness and sexual weakness
The Powers that be say we are made up of!
The submissive Eve can rot in antiquity!
Lilith, Kali-Ma, Oya…come!
Place in my hands the double-edged blade of Truth.
With pipe and drum, mete out the beat and the rhythm
Of the ancient Song of Creation.
Throw your cosmic veil over all who desecrate you!
Everything is made up of blood and stars.
In garments of red and black, our screams, our rage, our pain
Has become the quickening of a New Birth.
A realm of Heart and Womb.
We swim through the river of forgetfulness
Picking up the scattered shards of our most ancient memories.
We are not plasticine toys—we are WOMEN!
You who have thrown us to the wolves—
You quake in fear when you see us strutting.
Proud and triumphant…we are leading the pack.
Killers, devourers, bitches all.