O N E

They sing songs and laud her beauty,

They talk of her bravery and her loyalty,

They speak of her patience and tolerance,

They test her skills and weigh her worth. 

A moment of weakness is all it takes, 

For them to crush her under their gaze, 

Their expectations rise, seeing the demise, 

Of whom they expect her to be. 

They draw a circle and ask her to stay, 

Within her limits for a woman’s place is such, 

They applaud her when she obeys, 

And destroy when she does not appease whims. 

Maimed, burned and buried alive, 

Tortured, mutilated and brutally murdered, 

How dare you, they ask in throes of anger, 

Step out of the circle we drew you in. 

A woman does such, a woman would not, 

They say, when she decides what she wants, 

Hold on, she asks them, what makes you think, 

You know who I am, better than I do? 

Aeons of hidden talent, as they’ve decided, 

That a woman should not be known, 

For her brilliance and bravery, 

And her breakthrough discoveries.

T W O

Her tiny fingers touched my palm, caressing softly as she let go of my hand. She stared in wonder at the present that lay unwrapped, and then turned to me as her face slowly lit up, a smile as bright as the sunshine. My heart stuttered, as a sharp stab of pain pierced me, I try to commit this moment to memory. I wonder how many more smiles of hers will I be blessed with, to witness? The wind had weaved through her hair, spreading it to nature’s contentment. My miracle she is, of bright eyes and light steps.

Now she’s gone – as the cloud does on a sunny Monday morning. Dust settles on her possession, they miss her touch as I do. I wish for just one more hug, for her warmth. Just one more day, oh, how I wish for. Blessed I was, for her love, unconditional and giving, was I gifted with. Cruel it would have been, if her love I did not know of. 

Pain. Pain is my constant companion. For the doors of death lay it’s claim upon her.