(Above) Image courtesy of Judith Mok.
Red
by Judith Mok
The world burst out
Of its own maps
And gods changed their names
People talked till Babylon fell
While my heart grew
Into a bitter rose
That bled for you.
I handed you that flower
We did not feast on its perfume together.
It was given to me
By the winged Master of Muses
To celebrate a most terrible union
That is called separation
And is red torment to the
Hundredth power
That is purest and blackest of all
Judith Mok and Antonio Praena
Poetry Reading
March 13 at 6pm
Instituto Cervantes,
Lincoln House, Lincoln Place, Dublin 2.
email: cultdub@cervantes.es
tel 01 631153
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