Warning

A poem by Di Anna Ishtar

I walk where dawn and dusk
forget their quarrel.
Moon-blooded, sun-touched,
A name.

A door that opens twice.

Arrow of silence,
huntress of the inward wild,
I loose my breath into the dark
and stars learn how to listen.

Fire-veined queen,
lover and war-song entwined,
wearing desire like armor
and tenderness like a blade.

In me, the temple and the forest meet.
Incense curls through pine shadows.
Lions kneel.
Wounds remember how to bloom.

I do not ask permission of heaven.
To ascend, descend, return—
each time carrying a truth
the world tried to bury.

This voice is ritual,
My body a constellation rewritten.
Where I stand,
history loosens its grip.

O bearer of thresholds,
teach us this courage:
to love without shrinking,
to burn without vanishing,
to rise again
still calling ourselves whole.