Was it really you?
The mother, the equal?
Upon the flowers of Eden,
the first drops of dew?
You, the first man’s first mate;
created out of earth;
just like him, his destiny, his fate
And you who reasoned;
and who protested the submission;
and the shrewdness so seasoned
But then why do you stand by the devil?
And why are you a demon?
The corruptness on a level?
Is this because you had a rotten soul?
Or is it because you are the logic,
which defies all faith and Adam’ role?
Is this because you disobeyed God?
Or is it because you understood Him;
and the man’s original fraud?
I think it is really you;
the mother and the equal,
and the only chance we knew
You did not birth us perhaps,
but you did birth reason; and
you did birth justice,
both victims of our lapse
We do not carry your genes perhaps;
but we do carry your wisdom;
and we do carry your reason,
both dark and empty gaps