Poesia kaiera
Feminista baten auhena
Emakume ideala, zioten, masokista bat
baino ez zen. Umetatik trebatua
koldarkeriaren galtzak azalera itsatsita
eramateko, trebatua inerte etzanda egoteko
ar baten azpian, zeina emandako hitzez
behartuta baitago hura elikatu eta janztera,
hari 1.000 oin karratuko apartamentu bat
erostera, ganbara batekin urte
iragankorren hondakinak gordetzeko.
Ni ez nintzen sekula izan amets ideal hori,
eta hark ez zidan erosi apartamenturik.
Alargun eta diabetiko,
kuia mingots bat bezala zimurtuz,
jada heriotzak ere ezin nazake perfekzionatu.
Azken-azkenean, zertarako
balio izan zuen adoreak?
Phoolan dacoit erregina ere,
azkenean, armak utzi eta astean
behingo orgasmoetara jarri zen.
A Feminist’s Lament
An ideal woman, they said, was but / a masochist. Trained from infancy / to wear the flannels of cowardice / next to her skin, trained to lie inert / under a male, committed by vows / to feed her, clothe her and buy for her / the 1000 sq. ft. flat with a loft / for storing the debris of passing years. / I was never that ideal dream. Nor / did he buy the flat for me. / Widowed and diabetic / wrinkling like a bitter gourd / not even death can perfect me now. / What was courage worth / at the very end? / Even Phoolan the dacoit queen / finally threw down her guns / to settle for weekly orgasms.