1,2,3
She is not free,
A heavy burden,
In her insides
Filled with pain,
She walks in the rain;
A storm of distress held before,
A norm of life held in the hand
An illuminated face she see's,
From groans and kicks within;
Yet no light beholds,
The face within the mask.
4,5,6,
She is in the mix,
Of pain and happiness,
From a world of deliverance.
Freedom she demands,
Yet no one listens;
A permanent virtue of life,
A constant struggle as a wife.
A sweet drink,
She has not;
A lovely ring of courage,
She wears, to brave the rage.
7,8,9
When will it be time?
For the hour,
Of labour and anguish?
Her presence is happiness,
To the essence of loneliness;
Yet a heavy womb,
She carries, day in and day out.
As the night rushes,
And the sirens wail;
Groans and distress heard within,
Grows behind closed doors.
And then,
The world is brought to a standstill,
Yet, hearts beat,
As the closed doors are opened to all.
Congratulations!
A voice is heard;
Filling tears in the soul,
Engraved on a cold ring.
Freedoms at long last, she cries,
As she removed her mask