Poetry

They said, "A woman should be seen, not heard,"But what of the screams swallowed by shame?What of the laughter muted by fear?Her silence thunders louder than the rain.In traditions stitched with quiet obedience,Her voice is buried in the weight of "no."But the echoes of her silence crack the air,Demanding justice, refusing to go slow.Let her words rise like dawn's first light,Breaking ceilings, reclaiming her name.For the silence that once muffled her soulShall now roar and ignite the flame.

Her hair tells tales of struggle and pride,Each braid, a strand of her soul's defiance.Called messy, unruly, an untamed tide,Her curls weave hope into quiet resilience.Every twist is a story, every lock, a dream,Of queens who ruled before the storm.The world mocked what her crown could mean,Yet she stands, her spirit whole, her form.Braids aren't just styles; they are shields,Armed with culture, rebellion, and art.Each curl declares, "I will never yield,"For her roots grow straight from her heart.

"Fifty cows," they said, with a smirk and pride,But what of her laughter, her mind, her flame?Can coins weigh the value of a soul so wide?Is she a purchase, or is she her own name?They counted her worth in goats and gold,Yet ignored her dreams, her will to soar.Their traditions held her heart on hold,A prisoner of rules from a distant lore.But now, she walks, no chains in sight,No dowry defines her, no man decides.She is her bride price, her morning light,A woman of strength, where freedom resides.

She tills the earth, her hands worn thin,Feeds her children, her back bent low.Mama Africa carries it all within,But who carries Mama when she needs to grow?She gathers firewood, she builds the homes,Her laughter buried in days of toil.Her dreams are whispers, like fleeting poems,Lost in the demands of the fertile soil.Mama Africa, rest your weary soul,Lay down the burdens, dance in the sun.The world will spin; let others hold the bowl—It's your time to rise, your race to run.

#MeToo, #SheDecides—hashtags scream,A digital army marches with rage.But beyond the screens, does justice gleam?Or are we trapped on a performative stage?Clicks and likes won't shatter chains,Retweets can't free her from her plight.Still, they spark fires in hidden plains,Where stories once buried rise to light.A revolution grows where voices converge,Each hashtag a thread in a larger weave.Let's carry these sparks beyond the surge,To build a world where all can believe.

Silence, they said, was golden and pure,But what of the stories left untold?What of the pain they chose to endure,While injustice grew silent and cold?Each unspoken truth costs a life,Each stifled scream feeds the oppressor's might.When silence reigns, so does strife,And shadows consume the light of right.Break the silence; it's a heavy price.Let her words cut through, sharp as steel.For a voice that rises demands the skies,And brings forth justice no one can steal.

In villages, they plant with care and might,Feeding nations, though unseen.In boardrooms, they fight for their rights,Urban queens with fire in their sheen.Both rural and urban, they wage a war,For access, for freedom, for equal pay.Their struggles align from shore to shore,Their resilience turning night to day.Queens, wherever they are, take the throne,Refusing to fade into the shadows of men.Together they rise, their power known,Their voices shaking mountains again.

"Don't be so difficult," they always plead,"Smile more, soften, lower your tone."But no doesn't beg; it plants a seed,For a boundary that stands on its own.No is strong; it needs no flare,No just means stop—no more to explain.When consent's a game, beware,For every "no" ignored leads to pain.Let "no" echo loud and clear,A full stop, not a plea for a fight.For her "no" is firm; it ends here,A shield of steel in the dimmest night.

Raise her with courage, teach her to see,The vast horizons where her dreams lie.Show her the power of what she can be,Let her questions always touch the sky.Give her the tools to wield the pen,The power to speak, to fight, to lead.She'll grow beyond the limits of men,With a will as strong as her deepest need.Daughters of tomorrow, fierce and bold,Bearers of change, of fire, of light.Their futures are stories yet untold,But they're writing them now, with all their might.

Another sister lost, her name etched in tears,Her dreams cut short by a blade of fear.In alleys and homes, the silence persists,While justice lags and empathy resists.Her voice was loud, her laughter bright,Now reduced to whispers in the night.A country mourns but does not move,A cycle of violence we refuse to improve.Kenya, rise and face this storm,Protect the women who bear your form.For a nation that silences half its heart,Is a broken land, tearing itself apart.

Where are the women, the voices we need?In boardrooms, in chambers, to plant the seed.Policies pass without her hand,Decisions made in a barren land.She waits in the wings, held by chains,Of culture, of bias, of endless campaigns.Her brilliance ignored, her courage denied,As men hold the power and divide.Let women rise to take their place,To lead with wisdom, to set the pace.For governance without her steady guide,Is a ship lost at sea, with nowhere to hide.