The shaking and shattering of rocks on the gigantic jigsaw
A violent eruption of hot forceful lava Volcanic gases enveloping and engulfing harmful gender stereotypes
And ready to consume claws of brutal establishments
That have left female gems uncherished and talents undeveloped
Oh! It is misplaced and convinced in their own perception that it dwells there
It’s been bleeding and broken asunder
Oh that smiley face
So dashing and superb that you can’t tell what’s behind that mask
A bruised bloody face oozing tears
So desperate in search of strong barricades to stand and fight for them, to hear their outcry
A churned soul, a wanderer into wilderness for miles and decades
Yea! Helplessly tracking the trail of my rights into that dark alley In hope, by faith, that there’s always light at the tunnel’s end Oh wake up my country people, why give me a deaf ear?
Tried to excavate my ancestors’ history
What a generation with staunch belief in modesty of women
And adored them with full apparel on
It was alien to believe that their movies would sell like hotcakes
If women act in their birth suits
For we are of dignity too and not pawns to make products sale
Oh poor generation is ours that buries a missing piece in a sand dune
Believing it’s not strong to be a leader, but what about the Amazons? Then what emblem is it for travelling nine miles to Golgotha heavily laden in the belly?
Who said their job is to nod in agreement to men’s edicts? If you’re lost into a moment of what a missing piece symbolises― It’s an emblem of capability, vitality, strength and care.
Why can’t you symbolise us as successful people, capable people?
What shortfall do we have that makes us inferior to men?
Yeah! You represent us as housewives and child bearing machines
Those that do not need to know the shape of blackboard When did you turn us into your maids and doormats of your merchandise?
We are intelligent and wise just like men
But so shameful that we are represented as failures
The epitome of weakness the unjust tradition has said we’re
And shaking in the light wind like a stick of reed
Oh wake up my people
We have been represented as packages of fresh gifts
Wrapped only to be guzzled by old men in exchange for wealth
I wish this be uprooted
That we see a change as the crimsoned sun set
When you hear the outcry of a missing piece For it’s time we complete the jigsaw of humanity.
By Rebecca Chavula, Malawi.