And why do I kick and screech?
Why does my voice sound so low to you?
Why am I invisible?
How much louder do I need to become?
You want me to stop,
But you never ask me why in the first place.
Why I am crying,
Revolting,
Infuriated,
That I know of the violent choir, the awful dogmas and executing hands,
And everybody else runs around with their eyes shut,
He is oblivious, but not you.
You know of violence.
You know its grandeur, its physicality, what it does and achieves.
It has put its gold medals on you,
Conquered your childhood and yet your neck is straight,
That’s why I hold on to you,
I know you’re not blind.
You have faced it many times,
When you were small,
When you were revolting,
When you used your full voice,
When you pointed out the necessary actions.
Yes, it can be that easy.
Yes, very often a child is right and ready to act.
Walk in the right direction, away from harm.
A child has not unlearned to protect itself yet, to be open for the wounds
That the world inflicts, no, it chooses its battles wisely.
“Eve” by John Collier (1850-1934)
Croque-Melpomene 