(picture: Some of the many women who have, in the last year and a half or more, suffer(ed) from the illegal, violent, misogynistic, and inhumane actions of the Islamic Republic government in Iran).
I wrote these words in dedication to, Iranian women who endure in the name of honour and/or freedom, and the man who reminded me of choice a few days ago.
Her
They call her brave
without elaborating
or closing their eyes.
Her cold and dry hands,
like sandpaper,
rub down her body –
from her arms
legs
and stomach
to her chest
back
and neck.
She is hard
stiff
submerged in chills
Her mind continues to circulate
The rubbing doesn’t stop
Her joints loosen
Every movement replenishes
her strength.
Her voice projects words
combined to create
known thoughts
not considered
by the passing head.
Those who cherished
were arrested erect.
Her photo shows suppressed eyes that,
travel deep into the looker’s gaze,
are able to draw the explorer
into a story of stories never told,
filled with emotions ready to explode.
Her roar cannot be contained,
not at the breaking point.
As the loyal men say,
It is about choice.
Hers is to
exercise patience
for higher endurance
to gain freedom
to sustain honour.
From the start,
she knew patience by
knowing she will rise higher
as a warrior for life
an angel of love
a teacher to all.
