Stop Your Homilies Please

One has to lift up life

with soft dignity,

but how when at every

step I fall stumbling on

your unwritten laws

when every minute I have

to obey your commands,

your imposing restraints curbs

How can I lift myself up?

 

The oceans are rising high

the clouds have gone mad

fed by our poison they move

and burst at will

can I heat myself up to the lava

stream to singe your shenanigans?

If I am good you enslave me

If I am bad you imprison me

How can I lift myself up?

 

In the temples I bow

at home too,

in the streets I lower my head

cover my face

my spirit seems to be doomed:

If I lift myself on the stage

on the public platforms

dismissing the classical tag

"Woman is the angel of the house

she is now free to create

an angelic world of her own:

you all cry hoarse - See

she sings, dances, speaks

flies fights treats feeds!

Who will  cook and  feed

the old at home?

How can I lift myself up?

 

Yes, my spirit will lift up

even if I am at home

a small space is enough

if I wish to make

my spirit fly in freedom.

Give me freedom I'll make

the dingy space an arbour

I'll listen and speak,

you all allow me this freedom

don't dole out homilies

to lift me up

and if you don't

I'll defy all womanly norms

and lift myself up

not like a dry leaf in the wind

but as an awakened spirit

on the wings of my own freedom.