You ask me why my eyes seem weary,
but as we talk, my mind wanders,
far away, to places where my hands grow numb.
The heaviness on my eyelids is from the coldness of this world,
And to be honest,
my heart, though made of brass,
shakes and aches when I close my eyes and picture,
my charming daughter,
cast still in the bottom of a pit.
Six inches deep,
her smooth curly hair notwithstanding,
the hardness of this madness the society has placed on women.
I wonder if my small girl,
with her frail of heart,
will be able to lift this weight cast upon her by lost traditions,
off her shoulders.
like men trusting they can fail to trust their women,
treating them as property.
Perhaps when the government said,
women can give birth in public hospitals for free,
some men took it literally and took on their heels
Days old are gone,
when people fell head over heels in love
I long for times when the only free thing we will need is minds.
When these memories will die,
wherever the bodies of victims of injustices on women rest.