Where Boys Do Household Chores Too

He brings the bread.
I serve the cooking.
I can bring the bread,
but he will never do the cooking.

A cuckoo cries out somewhere but I do not
Have the sensibility
to look out, or keep still
till the sound, or the bird,
or both, die out:
Maybe she is raising her voice,
Else reprimanding someone who did.

I can rest my unease knowing
That the language of birds
Is not understood by my kind.

Us women, we do a lot more
Than cooing.

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How Dare I Be Born with Ambitions and a Vagina 

​I was born of the womb of another like me 

They looked at me and said there is no jewel finer 

But I was sacrilegious and blasphemous, they soon realised 

For how dare I house within me ambitions when I have a vagina?

You see, it is antithetical, for my voice is redundant 

Meant to be kept low, to remain unheard and unimportant 

For I am an accessory, not my own person independent 

but wife of, daughter of, mother of – always defined by a man. 

They tell me my body is a temple when temples do not let women pray 

They tell me my sight is a temptation that can lead men astray 

That compromising my modesty will name me a whore 

They tell me some things, they tell me some more.

And who are they, may you ask, and why this they say 

And why not let me find my own way – well, see,

It will make the patriarchy curse, make blood curdle in its veins

For I may get a mind of my own if they loosen the reins.

On streets I collide with men whose paths I allegedly stand in 

For I may be invisible to them out in the public sphere, in a man’s world 

For they may see me as domesticated and expect me 

to step out of their way, and not the other way round. 

Like birds who never left cages thinking of flight to be an illness 

The victims of generations of internalisation of weakness 

Some old women, they tell me to speak no ill of the men who protect me

While these so called protectors spew swear words degrading my anatomy and identity.

I was born of the womb of another like me 

But now I seek to break free of my gender’s perceived infirmity

The shackles will lay broken soon enough if we try 

To educate and empower, to listen to what speaks the cry.

And to the men and women who look down on me I say 

These aspirations won’t be a part of me if it weren’t meant to be this way 

Just like the goddesses we put on pedestals to bestow respect and  honour 

I was born with ambition, and it doesn’t have to go away because I have a vagina.