Sontag's Her Own Identity Poem by Aadil Hingorjo

Sontag smiled to me last night,
and whispered..
Oh man, what? Wait...
How could she come in night?
How could Sontag be like other women...
She's a wild day light.
She drafted out her own way.
Not beautiful, not fragile, never vulnerable
Brutally hers... Boldly her!
Bluntest and the soundest her!
Susan felt misery
She did mourn
But didn't ever go off
Submitted only to herself and stood tall
Unlayered existence bit by bit
X-rayed its possible features
Her work excites her female fellows
She undoes it; she alters it; she establishes it
Yes, she was an amazing beauty
Philosophic in fashion and pragmatic in picture
Though left the world in early years of century
Her soul still walks around New York's streets
Streets that she paved for women's voice
Still her rebellious words fly high there
Sontag is a society ceaselessly incessant.