I store my tears in a jar,
Unspoken protests hidden far,
For I’m the kind who wears a dress,
We’re meant to serve and speak in less.
I want to scream out, I object,
Put into purpose my intellect,
But I’m the kind, who stays indoors,
To please the other and do my chores.
A lady mustn’t cuss, and a lady must look down,
She must’ve deserved it, if beaten black and brown.
A lady must survive, and a lady must endure,
Must live according to men, no less, no more.
That’s how my mother did it, how her mother before her too,
That’s the way of living; what I’ll have to live through.
So as society follows, a mother is oppressed,
Decades down the line daughters put through the same test.
No protests come from fragile lips, no protests loud enough.
Fear of being neglected and the fear of sheer rebuff.
If oppression is a plague and wrong mind-set a disease,
Silence is as noxious, bringing women kind to their knees.