This poem offers a panoramic view of life within a harem based on slavery, an institution that, sadly, is found internationally. As a writer, I give the main perspective to both a young woman and the owner of the harem to provide a fair composite perspective (a union of the two, the woman and the owner of the harem). I hope that the intellectual curiosity of the reader is satisfied and that my poem helps us all to understand the opportunity to end such slavery and degradation, for the slaves and also for the owner of the harem.
It’s always a long clock
by captive veiled women
stealthily breathing in the deep deep night
of misunderstood insatiable consolation
ungrateful unnoticed
the authenticity of undisputed love
daily complaints remain unspoken
dreams just get lost on the way
with the owner’s satisfaction
in the lonely and desolate Arab night
the rich man walks with the night
with soft-soled sneakers
with an occasional arrhythmic clicking
to remind those on the bare floors below
of his unquestionable and unrelenting power
with only scattered prayer rugs
to muffle the soft sound of his possessive footsteps
while even quiet males
They are not free men in the light of day
breathe inside the curtained walls
the toilets cordoned off with red ropes
where they sometimes live
like real women, not men
men who are able to leave the harem walls
for errand missions to the market in the sunlight
Causing envy in the women of the harem
who can’t leave
is a reality of a dollar bill within the paradigm
of emotional income torn by discontent
you cannot discount the available discount
In fragile tents floating without fins
now on fire with burning mercy
desire and accusations erupting
Inside previously unfathomable hearts
of unattended humanity
denied a chance to speak
in pre-set groups of sex-laden
entities of different breasts counted glutes
lying on cream cots
their only beds to rest
innocent hands intact
some with smudged henna tattoos
others with draped multi-colored beads
girlish beauty promises within fidelity
like a tiny paperweight with a snowy scene
though carefully altered deceptions impact
in traditional hastily abandoned
wedding vows including abandoned traditions
like pure pure white wedding dresses
they hoped to use
they hoped to offer him a hymn
with grace with grace and spirit
in the sweltering arid room with no options at all
isolated hands are sometimes free
From bondage degradation and frozen fingers
Protected by decorated tents with restricted food trays
the well-dressed stranger in slippers walks
everyone knows him but he never speaks
passing boldly always openly as the owner
In the black velvet shades of the harem
straight for the loot dived
an emotional abuser through sexual openings
he was the deep sea diver came back
From the search for food and the despair of a rich man
to the endless rivers that flow from womanhood
although he is often hated he does not care
and reconsider your distant choice for the night
on that powerful and tender night she was like
a flower that opens
as he moves away from the weight of his youth
he aggressively pulls out his discount coupon
your choice of group rate in sterile hotel rooms
as the owner of the harem
for another emotion
another layman
on another mercenary day
While slowly gliding selectively
down the dark corridor of the harem vagina
wearing expensive slippers, not hard shoes
reflect on your choices with a
third eye his own hard eyes warned
while the wrapped women watch
with dark vision outlined by Kohl
under the silk brocade cape
a pair of unusual bright blues
looking innocently through
It was the Nazi glue they were talking about
as they watched in ghastly silence
and wait
Like a lost family beacon
a rotating police state siren
warning you and promising you nothing
screaming red red roses little red vaginas
red red dreams reach their tumultuous
cascading lotus thoughts
her young and innocent mouth opens in terror
while telling her to close the clitoral hood
she embraces the deity that is
in abject submission
inside the elegant closed rooms
from the orifices of the harem
it was the girl who was raped
not the slave
Like a dry frozen hospital, the harem is sterile
Dying people lie like barren mummies inside
Sheets wrapped in wet cold
Stale incest incense dominates
Forming ethereal dark clouds
Dark pleasures abound
No tactile awareness
For the owner of the harem it’s like sleeping
With a half dead woman
Who can’t lift their head or
His arm subdued
She cries mercilessly
from the spontaneous tears of childhood
As she lets him into her while
Your depression searches through
Your own skin and pores
Contaminating any relief
he could find
Drowning in living dry death
Inside a dead womb and
approaching nearby skulls
The empty vagina in which
He insisted as a condition
To your lasting bondage
The opium room ride leads to the owner
By another devious hallucinogen
I walk while groping in the dark
Thin fabric covered cord tightly wrapped
Of a houkah
a real pipe containing relief for
your now desperate need
and with an even deeper breath
Suffocates within the smoky memories
Of a golden youth that lost
through acquisition
through subjugation
slavery and spiritual slavery
a constant domination he once sought
has become the sense that there are no choices to be made
no crickets chirping in the bushes
shrubs that are now demanding containment
once living now fit in an illusory fortress
protect his own prison
with his life
