When she was born
Her relatives spat on the ground,
Called her mother a witch
And said "The only thing she's good for is dowry".
By 6 years old
She understood what being a girl meant;
Be still and quiet
Your opinion is irrelevant .
At 11 she watched her brothers go to school
As she sat in the kitchen,
Doing 'the work of a woman',
With tears of longing streaming down her face.
At 17, she slept with a man who was 67
Living with the cruel hand she'd been dealt;
How did she raise 2 children
When she was still a child herself?
At 35, no longer a child bride
She was replaced,
With a girl that had not
Even come of age.
She held the young woman
And dried her tears.
She understood her sorrow
She had felt it for years.
But this was her destiny,
Her role from birth.
To be the silent weeper,
The cleaner, the mother,
The lover; who would never know Love.
At 65 she's died,
Buried next to a man she never even knew.
Not a single male cries,
Her funeral attended by few.
So why the abuse?
Why so much pain?
Why raise such a brave soul in vain?
One rebellious voice cries,
With tears streaming down her face
"If only she were male!"
She looks to me and says
"You wish to know,
why she could have had no joy?
The answer is simple
They wanted a boy"
Jan 17, 2015
Jan 17, 2015 at 11:22 AM UTC
When she was born
Her relatives spat on the ground,
Called her mother a witch
And said "The only thing she's good for is dowry".
By 6 years old
She understood what being a girl meant;
Be still and quiet
Your opinion is irrelevant .
At 11 she watched her brothers go to school
As she sat in the kitchen,
Doing 'the work of a woman',
With tears of longing streaming down her face.
At 17, she slept with a man who was 67
Living with the cruel hand she'd been dealt;
How did she raise 2 children
When she was still a child herself?
At 35, no longer a child bride
She was replaced,
With a girl that had not
Even come of age.
She held the young woman
And dried her tears.
She understood her sorrow
She had felt it for years.
But this was her destiny,
Her role from birth.
To be the silent weeper,
The cleaner, the mother,
The lover; who would never know Love.
At 65 she's died,
Buried next to a man she never even knew.
Not a single male cries,
Her funeral attended by few.
So why the abuse?
Why so much pain?
Why raise such a brave soul in vain?
One rebellious voice cries,
With tears streaming down her face
"If only she were male!"
She looks to me and says
"You wish to know,
why she could have had no joy?
The answer is simple
They wanted a boy"