A short poem I wrote. Woman. “Get me a drink”, he says with a thud. Directed at you, in a moment of mud. What do you do, when given this time, He has a strong arm, filled with wine. Do you stand up for once, And make him look like a dunce? Or do you stand down, And avoid clothes stained brown? “You hear me?!” He says, with anger at flight, But you wait, and wait, holding back your fright. You did hear him. You’re not that dim! He just said to the world, it is his to take; women are a tool he has the right to shake He said it right to you, through his grimy grin. Spoken like the horrors hid under East Berlin. “If I tell you once—I’ll tell you three billion times, You’re not a man—until you open your minds. I am a woman, powerful, strong and free. Nothing will change that, unless I disagree. I will stand up forever, for courage is mine Even if it seems, at times to be clandestine. The war cannot be won, with soldiers spread thin, And has thousands like her, bullets through skin. Oh Malala, the dear, truculent one, You’ve shown me that the war can be won. So today I will stand alongside you, Giving the world, its newest breakthrough. I am Malala.
Posted on: Thu, 20 Nov 2014 00:09:21 +0000
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