(another one from the decade and a half old diary. makes me smile now, cos the hysteria has died down.)
Thy ask me if I’m a feminist
I tell them I don’t know
But it hurts, oh yes, it hurts
When her fatigue is dismissed
And becomes a cooking vessel
When they cast the stone at her
Cos she did what he too did.
It hurts, godammit, it hurts
When she is called to be
The paragon of virtue
When she is put in her place
With ‘a woman is blah blah blah - -
It hurts, bl---y s—t, it hurts
When she is told
A lady shouldn’t speak like that
A lady shouldn’t sit like that
A lady shouldn’t think like that
A lady shouldn’t think at all.
Dash it, who the hell wants to be a lady?
What, by the way, is a lady?
Who, tell me, is to decide
How many lines a poem should have?
It hurts, oh God, it hurts
When one of your own gender
Turns around and fires
That final fatal shot.
Turncoats , they exist every where, and all the while.
Like your blog and your pictures ! def. following you now! when you get a chance by by my blog and check it out and hopefully my writing will send you sparks so you can also become one of my followers too!
revolutionary stuff :-)
that was fifteen years ago, harish.
Very Well Put It.
Good thoughts, and ha a bit serious one too. LOL
ah the rage! as for me the hysteria is very much goin on. wonder if will turn back and reminisce like this some years down the line :)
i miss u......................
will u approve my divine mercy chaplet, and pray for me
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