People Consider Woman Just a Body Without a Soul
People Consider Woman Just a Body Without a Soul
People consider woman just a living dead body without a glowing invisible soul,
where they believe a visible hidden soul exists inside her emptiness full of universe,
they don't care what a soul is, ignoring it while knowing it, they heed only the dead body's demands,
when the soul dies living the body becomes a walking corpse that breathes without life.
They don't understand while recognizing, or recognize while forgetting this false true and cruel reality,
how many centuries has this gentle brutality continued, always stopping without eternal end,
how many centuries has this custom of holy sins existed without existing in each old new day,
people consider every scream of a woman a song of merry grief and sorrow.
Whether it's the age of civilized tribes or the custom of wild cultivated barbaric cities,
the race raised through gentle force, the matching of the body with liberating cruel oppression,
this act is in us, not in the wise ignorant birds that fly free inside cages,
we who wander with the manners of bestial and civilized human beings at the same time, separately.
No one is as gently wild as us among the tame rebellious domestic beasts of the forest,
a soul extinguished burning, robbed and saved in the frame of the body that is prison, freedom and living grave,
I think where I should go while staying and shatter while fulfilling my forced free destiny,
I am not alive dead to ask for help alone and to die living in every final breath.
And I am not dead alive so that I may escape while remaining from the pains of heavy happy life,
who will tell me in silence whose door to approach while turning back and ask while listening in quiet,
how long will life be poured and freed into molds of havoc and organized ordered chaos,
until the conscience of the world opens and closes its blind eyes that see all the naked truth.
How long will this old new tradition of oppression and liberating cruel oppression last,
woman is considered just an empty body without a soul that holds an infinite soul hidden in every cell,
her soul dies and lives when the body becomes a living corpse that walks and breathes without air,
the gentle brutality continues for finished unbegun centuries in each day present past future.
Her scream is a song of merry pain in the age of wild civilized tribes and cities always,
the race raised through force in matchings of oppression — this bestial human act defines us,
we who wander with brutal gentle manners among beasts less wild than we the people,
the soul extinguished burning robbed in the frame of the body-prison where destiny is shattered fulfilled forced.
I am not alive to die and I am not dead to live escaping from happy pains,
who will tell me whose door to knock on, asking in loud silence, how long will life be poured free,
into molds of havoc when the conscience of the world will open its blind eyes that see the invisible clearly,
and when will the tradition of oppression that frees us begin to end, catching us in chains of gold.
Woman is not just a body but an infinite soul hidden and visible in every breath that dies living,
centuries of gentle brutality continue and stop in each old new day that repeats itself uniquely,
her scream is a song ignored and heard by a deaf world that listens carefully without hearing anything and everything,
and we people with manners are more gently savage than the rebellious tame beasts of the forest.
The soul extinguished burning robbed and saved in the body-prison of freedom waits to be freed while being caught,
the shattered fulfilled forced free destiny that keeps us bound in choices without infinite options,
life poured into molds of ordered chaos when conscience will open its bright blind eyes,
and the liberating tradition of oppression will end while beginning in every eternal fleeting century that passes while standing.
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