History, What Gender Are You?

Photo by Haley Lawrence on Unsplash

Midnight bed, scent of sweat, a shadow slips away,

A man’s thirst for enlightenment keeps his heart at bay!

But think for a moment, if she took that very flight,

If Yashodhara left her baby for moksha in the night?

With milk in her breasts, if a mother sought her own glow,

Would history call her a monster, painting her face with woe?

A “saint” if he’s a man, but for a woman, a sin?

Patriarchy’s sharp, illusive scales, a game she cannot win!

Medusa had oceans within, the god had lust in his eyes,

Raped in a holy shrine, the heavens handed her the prize!

Fangs of snakes in her hair, a curse or a mighty shield?

Turning men’s eyes to stone, a magic she learned to wield!

The gaze that turns a lecherous man into a stony block,

Is not a curse at all, but self-defense under lock!

Trembling at the thought of stone, these heroes shrink and bawl,

Masking their own impotence, they call it Medusa’s thrall.

Fashioned from the selfsame clay, Lilith stood by his side,

If both are made of equal earth, who has the thicker pride?

“I will not lie beneath your feet,” the moment the woman spoke,

Banished in the name of God, the societal anger woke.

She threw away the Edenic grove and chose the darkest spell,

For better than a captive heaven is a liberated hell!

History is penned by the victors, with ink from a masculine pen,

Worshipped upon a goddess’s altar, but cursed by the mouths of men.

Yashodhara, Medusa, and Lilith, your truths we now unveil,

A hundred times I curse this false, this patriarchal tale!

Thanks for reading. If you like your history served with a side of truth, check out my other works and drop some love. This is a tribute to the unapologetic women out there for International Women’s Day.

Stay bold, stay healthy, stay safe.