Trigger Warning- Mentions of war, and death and implied assault
They would call you a harbinger of death,
So many widowed,
So many orphaned,
For the sake of your pride,
The foreign goddess said, her shield set aside.
Her counterpart slowly smiled,
A hand reaching out to cradle the woman’s head-
Yes, my sister is right-
They will call you a force of destruction,
A woman with too much pride.
But what they see as pride, my child,
Her goddess spoke, her words tinged with tongues of flame,
What they see as pride,
Is just self-respect
That which some men can rarely handle in a woman.
They think, the goddess snarled, that the war is the plaything of men,
But forget,
Our rage burns hotter,
Should we step into the field,
Annihilation would know no limits,
Yes, child, they would call you the widow-maker,
The woman with too much pride,
But your rage is a shawl,
They gave you, the day they tried
To take away all else-
Your pride is the price
They pay
For their abhorrent audacity.
Women take into our hands matters
When men-children decide
The worth of a woman’s shame and her pride.
Author’s Note: To read more of my poetry, you can head to Muses_Saga
