That day

Forget the raucous rabble

Screaming slogans

Burning bras

Walking naked for

Support.

No one listens;

They only smile

Indulgently, at the little

Women, and their play.

It’s when you look

Straight in the eyes of the

Smirking passer-by,

Mis-direct the bust-aimed

Roving appraisal

And still the glancing

Hand.

It’s when you refuse to bow

To fear and fallacy

And third-party rules

Denying the right to

Your own life-choice.

It’s when you stand when

All would push you down,

Use your voice, your brain,

Ask for books when handed

Pans, reject convention

And grab hold of Change.

It’s on that day when Fear

Turns his ugly leer

Away from the darkened road, the

Lonely alley, the dancing shadows

Preying on your mid.

And it’s when the wrong is

Not “your mistake”, for immodesty,

Immorality, or simply, insolently

Being there, wrong place,

Wrong time.

Then, when your head is held

High above what they deem

Necessary,

That day, the woman walks

Free, among the rest.

I am woman, hear me roar weakly.

Women are fascinating creatures, I find the obsession that artists- poets, sculptors, painters, dramatists, cynics, philosophers, psychologists-have with them to be completely understandable. We are a strange lot, especially us "modern and empowered women". Because, sometimes, despite the strongest bloody feminist morals and the most militant feminist ideologies, women end up being just that, women, in every sense of the word in its worst, most stereotyped form.

So I think it would be very safe to say that while I love the vagaries associated with womanhood, and deplore the bullshit (Read as stomach cramps, mood swings, periods, painful childbirth, mood swings, body image issues) associated with being one, the thing I hate most are the basic traits of my type that are sadly unavoidable.

Like pining, and feeling less than special, and being burdened with the expectations of appropriate and inappropriate behaviour and having to cover up for the lack of perception of others. All of that and more.

But what is most insulting to a carefully built up feminist ego is that after years of empowerment, the woman's spirit is still so very much at the mercy of its twin soul's, and still so very easily quashed.

Strength of a woman

Went to watch the original Mr. Lover Lover last weekend, Shaggy live in concert! Not only was it entertaining but also highly amusing to see Shaggy sidle his slimy way up to the local ladies! That might be the cynic in me talking. Anyway, when he started playing "Strength of a woman", he asked the aaalll independent women in the audience to raise them hannnds!!! And there were shrieks and raised hands of course.
Made me think of this idea of an independent woman. With years of feminist ideology backing us, every educated, open-minded woman should ideally be an independent woman. But what strikes me as ironic, often about myself more than anyone else, is the sheer effort women put in to being independent, of men. If we strive always to "be our own woman", then there is an invisible thread that is still pulling us mentally toward the Alpha Male who in the end decided our fates as human beings- woman, mother, sister, lover, wife, colleague.

Now, the really admirable ones are the women who have grown in spite of the invisible thread. The well-balanced, non-extremist women who, yes admittedly, need and have men, but are alone in their strength and don't depend on a sort of male crutch. Those are the admirable ones. And having in a few in my life isn't just helpful, it's downright inspirational.

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Triskele/The triple spiral

"She'll take you too a hiiigher plaaace..." You know you wanna sing along ;)

On a related note, this symbol is the triskele, a neopagan symbol for the three stages of the woman : maiden, mother, crone. There's more to it than that, as it is apparently a Celtic and pre-Celtic symbol as well. Must do some digging.
If I ever get a tat, this could be it. The strong woman, har har har ;)