Strawberry Tantrica

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At those times in our lives
When things don’t look too good
We each react on many days
By temperament, to mood
Reflected in the diff’rent ways
We will relate to food

Some of us, when the fires of life
Our snowy pinions singe
Will stresses multiple allow
Our need for nurture to unhinge
Then we respond excessively
By going on a binge

Others — and this category
Is that into which I fall —
Allow the circumstance in which
We find ourselves so to appall
We slough into discouragement
And just can’t seem to eat at all

It strikes us then we have small right
Put our unworthy life before
The life another being of
Who knows of us which is worth more?
Such a presumption strikes us then
As something which we must abhor

One day while standing at the sink
My little kitchen in
Preparing to, perhaps,
Prospective love affair begin
I pondered how the understanding
Of that fair swain win

‘How does one tell a person,’
To myself I thought
‘How solely in sexual realm
To please you as he ought
Without hopelessly scrambling
Such a pleasant person’s thought?’

‘Twas then the Tantric strawberry
Spoke up from her bowl:
“You cannot what will pleasure me
At present hope to know
Unless you swift more cognizant
Intuitively grow…”

“Alright,” I said, (forgive the pun)
“You’ve led me on — I’ll bite —
What do I have to answer
To get this question right?
What is it will indeed
Give you the ultimate delight?”

She blushed, if it were possible,
Even redder than she had
Replying, “It will make this berry
Very, very glad
The day some lusty little lass
Or ravenous lad

Ruthlessly will ravage
After out this bowl me take
Allowing me his or her thirst
And hunger so to slake
Until there’s nothing left of me
But seed another me to make!”

I listened in amazement —
Her enthusiastic voice
Which showed she meant just what she said
Had given me no choice —
But may have let to slip
A little unbelieving noise

“For this I was created,”
She hastened to reassure
“My unique contribution
Pertinent and pure
And my genuine ecstasy —
I couldn’t ask for more!”

I listened and I learned that day
From that berry, wise and sweet
Which my anorexia
Helped enable me to beat
Knowing it may not sorrow give,
But pleasure, to the one I eat

The poet/editor of this website is physically disabled, and lives at a fraction of her nation’s poverty level. Contributions may be made at:

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Ana Daksina

About the Author: Ana Daksina

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