The Girl Child.


She is beautiful

A precious stone on the ocean floor

Kept hidden beneath waves for centuries

Invaluable, priceless, immeasurable.

She is a she

And she is gold.


But because you have stones for eyes

And your mind is nothing but a black sheet

Your open your mouth and call her shit

You call her whore, useless, vain

You call her what you are


In her, I see the future

I see your mother’s mother

I see tomorrow in reality

And because of the misogynistic scales in your eyes

You see differently, like an owl flying in the day.


You see an object of your satisfaction

For sex, for squander and for sin

You see a lifeless being in the ring

For your punches, blows and attacks.

You says she deserves the pot and stove

And take away the book and pen

You say she is worth thirty shekels of silver

And then you sell her away

You sell her to the Ishmaelite traders.


Tomorrow is coming soon

When she will sit on the Iron throne

And feed your hungry mouth with food

And that of your misogynic sons too

Tomorrow is coming soon

Open your eyes and see the light in her.





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