In
villages they still throttle you
Or try to kill you before you are born
Often banished to some darkened room
Yet the first one to wake up at dawn.
They blame you for almost every ill
For troubles they say "cherchez la femme"
And though there be mostly sorcerers
"Witch hunt" is the name of the game.
Though Adam was the one tempted
You are blamed for the fruit you brought
And you even get blamed for your body's flow
Whenever there is a drought.
Yet you are the one who cradles the head
Of the man who thinks such evil thought
And your body mutely bears his weight
When he rapes it and takes all you've got.
You carry his seed for six months and three
Body bloated and glow upon your face
Won't you then share the blame
For furthering this insensitive race?
It's your hips that gives him life
Your breasts that him sustain
Your love that makes him son to man
Then who do you blame for your pains?
~Sumaitri~
