For the Men

For the Men

Fathers who don't
Hear her pitiful claim
In the name
Of family honour
Assign the victim blame,
Cover up the shame,
The prey and
Never the predators tame.

Mothers who just look away
Hoping to put uneasy blame at bay
brothers who use sisters as punching bags
and feel exonerated by labelling them
Shrewish hags.

Watch your true daughter /sister die
What's left in her place
is a lifeless creation
Framed by your lies.

An angry woman
disconnected from life
A timid wretch
Passive aggressive
From barren ashes rise.

She will choose her equal
In a mate,
Remember you condemned her
To this fate
when she comes back to you
Black and bruised and purple eyed
Dear daddies and brothers
Recall how you had lied.

If she was wrought upon
To believe
She deserved it then,
It is a given
She'll ever chose, and be chosen
By angry men.

Passive punching bag
Sucking in cruel lies.
A stunted runted
Little girl inside.

Eyes afraid to meet with eyes
Confronted, she'll always compromise
Spread her invidious fear destroy her seed
Broken saplings can't courage breed.

Value only your sons  then
And teach your daughters
Submissions  Grace.
Fathers may you forget who are
The future mothers
Of your manly race.

Fear for your grandson alone
O hearts of obdurate stone
Waste no tear for Woman's heart
Cowering in the corner, She
Stifles moans.
Like you she will play her predetermined part.
Mesmerized by the seal of fate,
The cards you dealt,
your fruitful karma
At the very start.

In a cloud of angry haze
I wrote
Brothers and Fathers,
Broken are women
On life's first sailboats,
Take care at journeys beginning then,
And not in the end,
Be men who end the cycle
Lend them strength
Don't make them bend.

For...
(I wonder if submission in a woman
Is what is to be desired.
Or in an atrophied  society,
cynicism declared edict,
when it just got too tired,
of  defending its daughters
sisters and mothers...
From yet another fiendish invader?

Submission is compromise
That preempts offense,
Never call it grace, that's
Discretion or defense.
Necessity customized into false virtue
Cemented into tradition
Becomes value
Someday you'll rue.

When the well trained daughter
Enacts her poppet part on cue
Fathers not society, but you,
Must pay her dues.)

(c) Amrita Valan 2016