A black nightmare:
He came to marry me
To buy me a necklace
An Arabic golden ring.

He came to marry me:
Not asking me, no, never.
Like a piece of cloth behind store windows
He thought me a commodity, a scrap of nothing  
He imagined me, a woman, bared
Waiting for the first time in the dark bedroom.

He came to marry me:
To stay in his house and wash his clothes
Cook him tasty meatball soup
And bring him a child one after another.
Make him proud if the baby is a son
Not bring him shame for delivering a daughter.

He wanted to marry me:
But I was already married to my hopes
My rainbow ambitions
My green future destinations
My dreams long like my brown hair.
I was already a woman bared
I’d colored my nails red.

He wanted to marry me:
Touch my breasts and shoulders
Feel my body.
My independent soul
Was not made for him
Not for him 
Like a panicked sparrow
I remain, virginal,
Trapped under the roof
By an unknown tomorrow.

By Pari

Photo by Marius Arnesen