The Seven Ages of a Woman


With Joy amidst the mewling,
The bloodied cloth unfurled.
A sorrow began unspooling,
When she said... 'It's a girl'.

It was but their worst fear;
Claimed as 'Curse of a demon'.
The options were ever clear,
'Either a Boy... or a Burden...'

Silently in a noisy gloom,
It was now about acceptance;
They were all back home soon;
And then began their penance.

Raised in a so-called 'palace';
Material formed the illusion,
No... she wasn't a princess;
The 'palace' became her prison.

Then came the adolescence;
And the innocent young soul,
Getting nothing but ignorance
From 'Society' as a whole.

School began her struggle;
Alone she walked that road.
Be it achievement or trouble,
Barely she got any support.

Even the little freedom she had,
Soon was rendered dead.
She hadn't done anything bad,
But, for the first time, she had bled.

Slowly, Gracefully and Poised,
Forced to walk a given route;
Silenced at expressing choice,
She grew up to be a mute.

Barely pulling the anchor,
She completed her basic education.
Whether it was love or anger,
She had concealed all emotion.

Soon they could no longer tolerate
The weight of the 'ever-growing' burden.
So they found a robotic mate,
Whose family demanded a huge ransom.
It is a traditional societal construct,
Whenever there is a transfer of burden;
They were just selling a product,
The one they called their son.

Marital Life seemed different,
She regained the ability to dream.
But that dream was just apparent,
Short-Lived and not as it seemed.

That joy came from maternity,
When she started carrying a life.
She was only serving her destiny,
As the machine he called his wife.

Then came the judgement day,
And all her dreams were torn.
Fortune, for her, had lost its way,
Yet again... a girl was born.

She could never hope to be forgiven,
After having done that dreadful deed.
Thus, she was left forever forsaken,
For lending her womb to a female seed.

Then began the maternal damnation,
Trapped in the hopeless cave;
She still served them with conviction,
Just as that of a slave.

With Bones brittle but spirit alive,
She lent her service tirelessly.
Only used as means to thrive,
Otherwise abandoned helplessly.

The cycle of abandonment came to an end,
When her service became futile.
To a community home she was sent,
And found rest only in exile.

Sans teeth, Sans strength, Sans Sanity,
Dwelling in her long-lost dreams.
Sans friends, Sans love, Sans family,
She dreamt how it could've been.

Different would be her journey,
Plethora she could've obtained.
She could've reached beyond infinity,
If her wings were not contained.

The Kindle slowly fading within,
Devoid of all observers;
Her spirit once and finally gave in,
As she exclaimed her final words-

"I accept the crude reality,
Of what we cannot and what we can;
It's a perdition enforced naturally,
To be a Woman in the world of Man."

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