Dinesh's photos with the keyword: Muriel Rukeyser

When I wrote of women in their dances, it was a mask, Or their mountain, gold hunting, Spring, in orgy It was a mask; when I wrote of the god, Fragmented, exiled from himself, his life, the love gone down with song It was myself split open, unable to speak, in exile from myself. There is no mountain, there is no god, there is memory Of my torn life, split open in sleep, the rescued child Beside me among the doctors, and a world Of rescue from the great eyes. No more masks! No more mythologies! Now for the first time, the god lift his hand The fragments join in me with their own music. “The poem as a mask” ~ Muriel Rukeyser