The Silent Threads of Equality

At the edge of history, when time was raw,
She stood as the foundation of every law.
While men hunted, their strength revered,
She nurtured, created—her worth disappeared.
In the shadows of caves, in fields of earth,
Her hands shaped the future, denied their worth.

Then society grew, yet her chains grew tighter,
Her world dimmed as his grew brighter.
Rules were written by men, for men’s pride,
Her voice dismissed, her dreams set aside.
Dowries weighed her as a burden to bear,
Her freedom sold, her future unfair.

“Stay modest,” they said, “Cover your skin,
For men can’t control the beast within.”
Every step she took invited disgrace,
Every outfit judged as a moral case.
“She was asking for it,” they justify,
As if her attire caused the crime to arise.
And so, she learned to tread with fear,
Her rights denied, her dignity unclear.

In workplaces, her worth’s undermined,
By whispers that reduce her to a body, confined.
“An eye candy,” they say with a laugh,
Dismissing her work as a mere photograph.
And what of the homemaker, laboring unseen?
Her sacrifices diminished as routine.
“She does nothing,” they scoff, “She stays at home,”
Yet her toil is the backbone of every home.

Her life is a maze of judgment and rule,
A system that treats her as a fool.
For when she excels, they say she’s too bold,
And when she falters, “She should have been told.”
At night, if she walks, her motives are blamed,
Her safety a question, her freedom shamed.

Behind closed doors, the bruises tell,
Of love turned control, of a personal hell.
“Why didn’t she leave?” they ask, unkind,
Blind to the chains society designed.
In silence she suffers, yet she still tries,
To challenge the world, to rise, to defy.

But she fights back, through centuries’ tides,
Through suffragettes’ marches and feminist strides.
She fights for the right to walk at her will,
To wear what she pleases, to dream, to fulfill.
She fights for her daughters, to give them the light,
To walk in a world where their worth isn’t slight.

Still, the world asks, “What more does she need?”
As if justice weren’t her rightful seed.
Why is her worth debated still?
Why does her ambition spark such ill will?
Her clothes, her choices, her very name,
Become excuses to shoulder her blame.

But she rises, she roars, her silence breaks,
With every step, the foundation shakes.
Her strength is thunder, her hope the rain,
That washes away centuries of pain.

Look closely at the world we’ve designed,
Where judgments shackle her body and mind.
Let us unlearn, let us rebuild,
A world where her dreams are fulfilled. 

Her journey is ours; her voice is the key,
To unlock the world where all can be free.
Not a man’s world, nor hers alone,
But one where humanity stands fully grown.
Let us reflect on the world we build,
On dreams we crush, on hopes we’ve stilled.

For when she rises, the world will rise too,
Her strength is the dawn, her fight is the truth.

Image credits: Pexels.com