Zywa
Girl's dreams put down
With my sisters I imitated
mama and her friends
By paying attention to everything
from eyebrow to footstep
every muscle under his cloak
the menu and our clothes
we let Dad, who is king
do his important job
For so long I'm living
without friends, without child
I'm not smoothing out sheets
for my Achilles, the sensitive
hero, his divine body
On our wedding day
the priest didn't sprinkle holy
water on me, he besmirched me
with glue from the golden vessel -
a foul mix of blood, wine
honey, and nobody dared
to look - under the offering table
next to the raging fire of the funeral
pyre he kicked me: keep quiet!
His knife shone, I saw him pull
at the doe that took my place
Oh, what woman didn't and doesn't
suffer from beautiful girls' dreams
put down by sneaky plans
from which she has escaped
half at the utmost?
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