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 I touched the smooth, shiny skin of the apple.

Curiosity blazed like a flame.

Like a moth, I dived into it.

And then darkness followed.

I had learnt that knowledge is light.

Yet I was a trespasser in God’s domain.

With a single bite, thorns sprang from the earth like acquisitions.

A serpent slithered along my spine.

I am cursed to carry the weight of my disobedience,

inside my womb.

 I am charged with the burden of man’s eternal doom.

But who planted the tree?

Why did that juicy fruit hang there

 if it were not to share?

 Prometheus stole fire and defied God.

We call him the saviour of mankind, the benefactor.

His suffering is noble.

The eagle feasting on his liver shines like a badge of honour.

We praise his audacity.

We hail him a hero.

But I, Pandora, am cursed for eternity.

I lifted the lid and let the troubles fly.

The air was filled with woes and pain.

Disease took root in every bone.

Grief poisoned the marrow.

Only hope remained behind, fluttering like a captive bird.

Why should I be blamed?

He who created the jar also created me.

Was it not a divine conspiracy?

To avenge Prometheus by sending an enchanting bride to Epimetheus, his brother,

endowing her with beauty, curiosity, and deceit?

 A man’s transgression is exalted.

His defiance is celebrated as courage.

Mine is a catastrophe.

His tragedy attains grandeur.

Mine is punishment.

Prometheus defied Zeus and became immortal in memory.

I obeyed Zeus and trapped Epimetheus.

I am damned to eternal reproach.