Just Women’s Day was celebrated bright,
Yet her struggles burn beyond the night.
Not just in cheers, not just in light,
She fights, she bleeds, she claims her right.
She is a daughter, tender yet bold,
Born with dreams the world leaves cold.
Told to obey, to fit, to mold—
Yet in her heart, a fire unfolds.
She is a sister, a shield so true,
Fighting battles no one knew.
Lifting others, yet left behind,
Still, she walks with strength defined.
She is a friend, a soul so kind,
A healer, a guide, a heart aligned.
Through laughter, through storms, she stays,
A silent strength in countless ways.
She is a lover, judged and torn,
Blamed for love, for being born.
Gives her all, yet bears the shame,
While the world forgets his name.
Yet measured by duty, not by right.
Expected to bend, expected to stay,
Still, she loves in her own way.
She is a daughter-in-law, bound in chains,
Some find love, some know pains.
She carries respect, yet walks on fire,
Balancing love and unspoken desire.
She is scolded for the salt too less,
For a floor unclean, for a life in mess.
A meal too late, a word too strong,
Told she’s the reason things go wrong.
She is a mother, life she gives,
But forgotten in the life she lives.
Endless hands, endless pain,
Yet no one stops to ease the strain.
She is a worker, unseen, unheard,
From brothels dark to boardroom words.
In rags, in riches, side by side,
Yet by her past, she’s still denied.
She is a housewife, a boss, a muse,
Wears a sari, heels, or worn-out shoes.
In boardrooms fierce, in beds so true,
She gives her best—yet must prove anew.
She is judged by what she wears,
Too short, too loose—too much to bear.
A fabric thread, a measured gaze,
Yet her worth is more than what she displays.
A target first, then blamed for free.
Hands that grope, breaths too near,
No lock, no law, can cage her fear.
She fights for space, but walls close in,
Stares undress her, sharp as sin.
A boss’s joke, a stranger’s hand,
Her “no” means nothing—they still demand.
In buses, halls, on streets, at night,
She’s hunted prey in dim-lit light.
Her scream ignored, her scars denied,
Still, she stands. Still, she fights.
Remember— she is fire, she is stone,
A storm unchained, a force unknown.
She stands tall, she walks alone,
Break her once—she turns to bone.
So before you bow in temple light,
Before you kneel in worship bright,
Honor not just the stone you pray,
But the woman you betray each day.
From her womb, all life began,
Yet she is crushed by your own hand.
The day she breaks, the world will see—
Without her, there is no we.
For she is she, in every way,
Not just today, but every day. 💜🔥
No comments:
Post a Comment