Legacy of enduring Sexism

Peageons

(excerpts from Strength of the Woman; Chapter 6)

Yet again modern men remain quiet, but quite resolutely still steadfast in the sustenance of that ancient model of their gradual dominance over the women folk. It is not ever fully concealed or nearly abandoned in its impertinence. It recaptures every single edge it lets off and increasingly intimates its younglings with the self esteem of its virtues, before they even fully grasp how to also intimidate with it.

Their expression of this intent is unguardedly simpler when they are young. That is when black and white is blurred into an innocent grey and the earliest gusto of the showmen’s world they are born into cannot fully differentiate immodesty from humility. They tend to hide their shortcoming so poorly then.

Young girls in the male younglings’ presence are made tolerant of the arbitrary interference to the optimistic promise of their natural feminine love as shown manipulatively and reinforced. It is initially pleasing, but it doesn’t eventually gladden as it doesn’t ever exempt a single one of them. Subsequently, all women get to feel fully uprooted and well armed with an arsenal of useless weapons.

In his immediate community, the young boy isn’t ever seen to be criticizing his women folk, instead he is said to be just ever critiquing as he ages into slowly appreciating them. Even as sister resists attempts to belittle their efforts to make her brother her bettered partner, he yet upsets her with the most solemn words of disrespect and embarrasses her best effort to give him a revered distinction. Remarkably, this is most probably a distinction he doesn’t ever show he deserves.

It is the very old: BATTLE OF THE CELLS

Who must comes first,
Males or the females?
This knowledge a thirst
That quenches with cells

If what is common birth
Forms females or males;
Supremacy is their myth,
Caged within each cells.

Still the sole permit she is allowed in corroborating with him is amazingly incompatible in the scheme of things, as it sparks of a series of fixations that he needs countered but doesn’t ever let. He forever masters her identity and its personification. Her lamentation is always in true isolation because he causes it with the continuous surge of his self worth. The strayed debris of her glories is made an eclectic collection of incongruities, meant to suit his pleasures. She is forced to shyly thank him for this same insult to her person over and over again.

She is stopped from worrying about the things he does habitually, those that fix a solemn expression on her gloomy face and eternally ambush her with listless accusations about falsehoods, mindless of her integrity. Her expression of her exhibited feelings is considered improper, even as he insinuates that this same altruism of hers, conflates into her most loved attributes. He shamelessly sees these virtues as ingenious, stimulating and inspiring.

As such she is made his ultimate item of ridicule by his very own instruments of condemnation she still adores.

That is the crux of the STRENGTH OF A WOMAN

Where is the bird that hatched this egg?
Flying above the world, up so very high.
And the monkey the farmer wouldn’t beg?
Laughing up a branch, he threatens not near.
Will they ever marry their ideas, so very big?
As always they steal, flock, eat and do share.

Flying above the world, up so very high,
The bird still returns down to hatch its egg.
Laughing away harmless threats if not near,
The monkey’s hunger for the farm will beg.
Their ideas created their world and it is clear,
That strength of the woman gave marriage a leg.

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-: Everything happens for a reason :-

Cool picture, nice poem

♥ Straight From Heart ♥

Don’t construe God as a silent listener,

He waits for you to gather strength and deliver;

There is always a reason for everything that happens,

Don’t judge him for not acting sometimes,

Maybe he wants you to learn for the

Worse battle to be fought ahead in time!!


Author: Rohit Pandey

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A Halloween Twist

Going Wacko For A day….

Ginz&Tonic

Cast her as the big bad witch
And all you’ll surely see
Is cloak of black with pointy hat
With broomstick made from tree

You will think you’ll hear a cackle
Swear blind she owns a cat
That crosses in front of your path
To catch the nearest rat

And you’ll be certain that she has
A fiery cauldron too
Where tail of mouse and rat complete
All mix into the stew

Yet ‘neath perception’s bias
You’ll fail to see the rest
The truth or altitude view that so
Belies your thoughts at best

For there’s no cloak, no pointy hat
No broomstick or fire pit
No cackle, though perhaps a cat
But that is about it

As beneath these dark and blackened clothes
She wears as a disguise
Another her is maybe masked
To cover up her size

Or hide away from judgement and
The pointing finger that
Condemns…

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Natures Symphony

Lovely piece

Wandering Samiam

It’s the rain that gets you wondering

It’s the rain that sets you free

With each drop a realization

A moment of pure glee

When the moments get real quiet

And the distractions go away

It’s the rain that lets you know

How you were meant to spend the day

And then the wind will howl

And the thunder crashes down

When added to the rain drops

It brings creation out

A clearer heart can open

And a fresher mind can see

For the symphony of nature

Brings forth a remedy

~Wandering Samiam

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Victors don’t flourish if their vanquished had perished and death can only lose. If the fear we bear of death doesn’t give death peace of mind, then what has death? Death can’t have us or keep us for he passes on only, going through us for the briefest of moments. Death tends to reveal the two most important lessons in our limited lives and these are firstly; Where there is a life, there are always lies. And secondly; Every road leads to the same place. Death’s power ends where it starts.

Death is always an unexpected familiar guest that steals from all.

DEATH

Cruel, cruel death
We have never met.

I only just heard
Of the fear in tears you said.

You’ve been about the herd
And oh the wonder you fed.

Who tells if you’re sent
When you only just left?

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The old woman’s maid
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History of Autumn

What a lovely bit of writing…..

Eunoia Review

Autumn tastes like midnight blackouts
when you don’t know how or when to navigate

the waters between history and future. You’re stuck
in the palms of the present as you pick scabs

off trees like chipped paint. The waters swallow
you whole into its charcoal wasteland, charcoal

because life’s shedding its last layer of flesh
before packing leather suitcases for a sleep-induced hiatus;

And you’re lost because you don’t remember
why your Ma left the door unlocked before fleeing,

why your Ma’s last mahogany footprints
led to a pile of crippled leaves and ended the trail—

You laughed at the way they were shaped
like bones, cracked infinitely like a porcelain doll dropped.

But you know that you began with a midnight blackout
as your parents kissed until their bones were numbed

by too much silence in one measure, you know that
their oxygen tasted like expired sesame oil with…

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THE CHILD’S WORLD

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The tiny fetus that had been robbed of its life shouldn’t know regret for not ever living it, but certainly its murderers should know of it for its sake and their conscience.

One of the most treasured ingredients of the earliest part of life is in the lack of the full knowledge of it. It is an ingredient that feels like mist over the head of a blind man, who senses its thick moist presence but doesn’t determine it by sight.

FIRST PAIN

When I felt it happen too;
Like I heard and saw it too.
I died that day that I knew;
I was just me and not new.
Then alive I sprout out again;
Living as all do, after their first pain.

tears (1)

The child learns to be his own person as he ages and develops his own ability to endure life at first and its worries next. But when he gets accustomed to enduring life and learns to numb out most of the sorrow he feels in it, he then acknowledges that living thrives out of form, if it discards its ordered laws and professes its rebelling need for rules. Otherwise that early instant knowledge of life and its subtleties would render a child hapless to a situation it hasn’t as yet mastered and make life appear pointless from a very early age. Just like a shooting star sighted from earth appears to hit no target, life will appear to serve no purpose but only serve a steadily distressing experience by all logical human estimation.

baby_shoes (2)
YOUNG AGAIN

You are only young once,
Blossomed to take your chance;
To scent the world’s spring
With the fruit kinds you bring

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The poet in the poem
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Don’t Hesitate

Powerful poem

Rapid Fire & Short Bursts

Don’t Hesitate

image

New, fresh, untravelled success
It’s good when people face this test
With trepidation in those first steps
Yet moving forward is always best.

The fears are natural, you may fail you may fall
Though if you never have tried
In older years you will sigh
What if, if only, I could’ve maybe?
So with fears in tow, go ahead take it slow.
Give yourself the benefit of doubts
Push yourself to seek new hopes.

Relish in the opportunity,
It’s not success that pays the reward
It’s you that’s finally breaking the mold
The one that has held you back
The insecurity from your past.

So now bravely go, take your place on life’s stage
Stand and wait for the applause
You’ve chosen wisely
You have decided, now move
Your body and your mind
Surpass all that you’ve left behind

Step into your world anew
You’ve created a different…

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20 YEARS TO THE DAY

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Twenty years today we lost our father and we suddenly aged beyond our ages.

FATHER

Baba, mutuwa na da wuya?
Mun amince duniyar ka da wuya.

Father, is it hard to die?
We acknowledge the hassles of your world.
With life’s wards always roams a lie;
We all are reproductions of its mould.

Choking in the presence of its grip,
The inscrutable crux not familiarized.
Do we sit out the stages of its trip,
Like your peaceful love that wasn’t recognized?

From the weep the baby wails
To the whip’s lashes life hails,
These tastes we own and inherit.
Say oh father, is there better to merit?

Rest in peace Baba. We miss you so much, more now than ever.

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THE POET IN THE POEM
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