I submit to sealed conventions for I’m a pure woman,

I let them tinker with my dreams like an obscure woman.

The file of their ungodly wishes usurps my seconds,

The reservoir of regrets makes me a secure woman.

Connoisseurs assemble to maneuver my mute body,

Centuries are yet to prune them, like a mature woman.

Sigh! The burden of a stoic smile and buried whimpers,

Makes me the epitome of the hailed unsure woman.

The battered body of my sister appeals for justice,

Much like the lamenting, ravaged Earth, I endure. Woman!

And I, the poet, scribe the scars with paraffin of pain,

Rage, resist, reclaim – don’t emulate a demure woman.