Iran, Every Womans Fight

They’re made to look identical, hide all that is unique. With scarfs and veils and clothes that mask, their beautiful physique. In laws of old religion, no woman was born free. Sometimes sold by fathers, a financial commodity. The more that females cry out, the tighter the noose gets. The more they try to break away, the uglier the threats. The males which hold the power, fear they’ll be left alone. Because they know that deep inside, the women all have grown. Grown from ancient customs which keep them tethered to, a lifetime lived in servitude, each day told what to do. To cook and clean like servants, their worth to all the men. Surrender themselves every day, no matter how or when. They want to have their freedom, end old ways of the past. Each one with their autonomy, where their word is the last. So they remove their headscarfs, march in protest of their plight. Their numbers keep on growing, for it’s every woman’s fight.