To The Women. . .

To The Women. . .
Who Welcomes the new sun, to a new day and keeps the moon company at night for sleeping. . . is always a nightmare.
For she seeks justice informally for maybe in case, the ancestors might just perhaps care.
For nobody in the community seems to care, so they decide to swear at her and God at the same time, by sticking their middle fingers in the air.
For domestic violence is silenced to the judges judgement, so the treatment she is getting. . . cannot be bared.

To The Women. . .
Who receives kisses from fist and show their affection through blushing bruises, with scares that lines up like prison bar along her rip cage, with her morality she constantly loses.
Her mind oozes blood with a compromised smile, washed away with tears of pain in disguise.
Seeking the truth in all of this ordeal, trying to find what is real, beyond being wise.
The Husbands voice intimidates at a very vicious rate, that makes her think that his love is a military campaign.
while they act like drill Sergeant, instructing orders left, right and centre. . . it looks insane

To The Women. . .
Who gets walked all over like city pavements, with their backs that crack from slaving over a stove. To the one that fights to gain some grain, to make that slices of bread and leave tomorrow a loaf.
She carries, every little burden for the family's agony, yet she still able to carry 3 children on 1 lap.
life might have confined her to a usual routine, but life circumstances towards her, are a death trap.
She builds the foundation of the household with her feminine teaches, hoping that it will hold strong like her patience.
The patience of one day, that the dark cloud that covers the roof top, will move with threatening storms that are ancient.

To The Women. . .
That seeks peace, in the face of defeat, for she can not make ends meet, battling on a daily bases of whether to run away far with no direction or just stay and take a seat
Sisters, who are breadwinners, for the men are outdoor happy sinners and they run away from their duties.
Even if the women are absent minded, they are reminded when that times comes, they must find joy in these responsibilities

So i say to you. . . to you women who sing to the sun like angels and are thankful for another day, who don't take on problems with revenge, yet they find peace by means to pray.
Hope, glances over their eyes that brings shame to any demise, that is why change will eventually come.
With their faith that amazes beyond compare, with their souls depth. . . that is as deep as a rippling drum

To The Women who constantly keep their heavenly ears open, i say to you today

Nothing is lost in the eyes of God
Nothing is lost in the eyes of God
Nothing. . . is lost. . . in the eyes. . . of God