Two Women in One

 

Two women inside one
are begging for survival,
roaming over a steep hill
that becomes a mountain,
a tight snare at times,
so tight it is
that there may not be enough room for
the two of them.

Yet this would not be feasible,
so the two women inside one
support each other,
stubborn as they are,
by lifting the pillars
that keep their balance,
brick by brick,
fending off the attacks,
climbing together,
even when the air that surrounds them
becomes stale and thick
and there is no clear horizon.

One of them is wild;
She peddles
her poems, buildings of words and forests of stories
through uncertain tunnels of magical illusions.
The other one is her mask,
and carries the outside compass.
They forge elusive dreams.

There are not enough dreams,
and not too many either
because they cling
to their struggles,
straying in the same direction.

There is not enough coldness
to freeze them,
no forces to paralyze them.

Like anchors to a tiny island,
they are two women inside one
trying to survive.