Bound by unfairness and fear, she has no place to go
She is been trampled by those who dread her inner light
To crush her spirit they’ve killed or buried her children alive
Her nakedness frightens, prompts obsession and insanity, they say.
If she raises her voice the world will hear her, so they silence her
Keep her shut and imprisoned,
She is given no freedom, no space of her own,
She is trained to be submissive, shy, and dependent and to become the best slave,
We are slaves to ourselves; others have expanded their prisons to engulf the rest of us
“She is a woman,” they say,
In alleys and hallways, smoked filled rooms, in brick mortar houses, at round table discussions, in upscale offices and in lavish resorts; they decide her fate while she sits on a street corner begging for change, begging for her life.
Her ailing infant knows no taste of breast milk,
Fountains of life dried out;
Malnutrition and enslavement besiege her frail body like a drought-affected-vine of the Sahara desert.
She works day and night to keep the fire burning from a little wood pile of which she had risked rape and abuse to get miles and kilometers away. A bottle of water is a luxury she stumbles on through the struggles of a stranger who cared to sympathize.
Is this her fate, is this her way of life and is she to accept this reality?
Are we to say this is her reality?
She was born under unlucky stars, so the god's have proclaimed?
Given for money, given to bring forth more children, given away not to shame the family name.
She is given away
Free labor for a man's every pleasure and desire, she is given.
Belabor her every nerve, let her not see the dreams of her soul, or let her light shine.
We care not for what she has to contribute, we care but for what she has to do for us,
After all, she is a mother, a wife, a sister, and a caregiver.
She is supposed to be the resource that satisfies our every whim,
Our prostitute who fulfills our outrageous fantasies,
She’s been coaxed to believe she is a gratification bowl to wash our faces,
She has to toil in the fields and in every other harsh working site to feed our bellies,
She is expected to tame our egos,
Bolster our righteousness,
And above all she is to blame for our failures, headaches and heartaches.
Are we mindful of her dreams, when her views are unwelcomed in the midst of thinkers, visionaries and those who inspire?
Who is she to have a say in the prosperity of humankind? Is been the centuries old question.
Who is she to challenge our world view?
Who is she to articulate her plight?
She is a woman and thus is believed to be her world?
