wings for cyllene

my daughter said she had been chosen to be the fairy 
in the school play. 
so sat down making a pair of thermocole wings, 
strong but tender, 
and elasticised so she could flap them. and understand 
the meaning of flight.

/song of the supposedly sacred sin

it was that sack 
where genes 
passionately in that searing heat pounded 
away in an undulating ecstasy of an ethereal convulsion. 
you divided and multiplied 
into those cartilagious limbs 
(strong tomorrow) 
buffeted in uterine lullabys. 
& you, you my daughter 
through who's arch of legs 
a thousand generations will come to pass. 
an oasis under your belly; 
a mother touch taken for granted. 
docility exploited.tenderness expected. 
cantilevered bonding. 
condemned giver never receiving. 
- a 
chrysalis 
that's not to soar. 
woman in your decrepit living 
those accursed thighs, 
suppressed laughter, 
dead feelings and 
abandoned emotions. 
lying to suffer another screw. 
you'll moult as each relationship 
is burdened on you. you 
grappling myriad avatars - 
leper daughter- 
motherlode sister- 
whore wife 
who's mother art thee? 
how many births of a lifetime must you endure? 
your heralding 
a monster in its pagan spite 
a spring in innocence

i learn to chase 
i did not know what.

wings for cyllene

so 
i give you these wings cyllene. dream but chase. 
dream and achieve. be tender in understanding others 
strong when they are defenceless, fly them when 
tears do not comfort, spread those wings to provide shelter

and you'd be tied down as you grow...

Pradeep Mane's questions:

1. this is a poem for my daughter. struggled 2 years to write it. i wanna tell her the truth of living. the kafkasque vaudeville we compromise with. it may not have a structure, no craft but could i tell my daughter thru it the banality of our living. the rip off. the tar of our existence. she's 7 years old.

2. dissections are welcome.