A Long Road For Our Delilah

In the shadows of judgments, we find her plight,

 

Divorced: She can't keep a man, they whisper, contrite.

But do they hear her voice, her heart's lament,

Or merely echo the shallow judgments that are sent?

 

Raped: What was she wearing, they ask with disdain,

As if her clothes could justify the searing pain.

But where's the empathy for her shattered soul,

Lost in the depths where compassion takes its toll?

 

Childless marriage: She is barren, they claim,

Words heavy with pity, an insidious game.

But can they fathom the ache within her core,

The longing for a child, a love to adore?

 

No male child born, it's all her fault, they sneer,

A son absent, her womb becomes a mirror.

Yet, do they see her worth beyond gender's plea,

Or blindly confine her to roles she must not flee?

 

Rich and independent, they label her so,

A prostitute, they say, her worth laid low.

But can't they see her spirit soar and dance,

Beyond the confines of societal stance?

 

A bad child, they blame the mother's hand,

For spoiling him, a judgment firmly sand.

But can they see the broken cycles that unfold,

Generations wounded by stories yet untold?

 

She wants to play some sports, they scoff and scorn,

A girl's domain, they say, her dreams forlorn.

But can't they see her strength, her fire unbound,

A force that defies the limitations around?

 

Single and driving a car, they wag their tongues,

Potential suitors scared off, like broken rungs.

But can't they see her freedom, her wings unfurled,

A testament to her strength in a biased world?

 

She speaks her mind, they label her bossy,

A woman's voice, they say, should be less saucy.

But can't they hear her wisdom, her thoughts profound,

A treasure trove of insights to be found?

 

Unmarried in her thirties or forties, they sigh,

Irresponsible, they claim, with a weary eye.

But can't they see her choices, her path unbound,

A life not defined by societal ground?

 

Married: Becomes her husband's property, they state,

A notion archaic, where love abates.

But can't they see her strength, her individuality,

A partnership built on mutual respect and equality?

 

Cheating spouse: It's her fault, they whisper low,

She made him do it, she should be prayerful, they sow.

But can't they see the scars, the trust that's torn,

A victim blamed, her worth unfairly shorn?

 

Widowed: She killed her husband, they cry,

To take over his properties, a venomous lie.

But can't they feel her grief, her soul laid bare,

A heart in mourning, burdened with despair?

 

Remarries: She didn't mourn enough, they chide,

Her love diluted, as if she's cast aside.

But can't they see her resilience, her heart reborn,

A second chance at love, a hope newly sworn?

 

Domestic abuse: What did the woman do? they ask,

As if she somehow prompted the tormentor's task.

But can't they hear her cries, her pleas unheard,

A soul trapped in anguish, a voice deeply stirred?

 

It ain't easy being a woman in this part of the world,

Where judgments rain and expectations swirl.

But through it all, she rises, with grace and might,

A testament to her strength, her enduring light.

 

In reverence, we shall stand, applauding her fight,

Respect to every She out there, shining bright.

Remember the willows of the winter, and the new era's delight.

Their fight,a radiant beam, their flight, a righteous sight,

Beyond the dark talks of the night.