WOMEN
Women, oh women, see their wrath.
Fired by pain, yet called unkind.
They rise with fire in their veins,
Silent storms behind their eyes,
The world whispers of their supposed sins,
Blind to the battles they survived.
Karaba knew this bitter truth,
A victim first, a villain next,
Every strike against their soul
Built a story of fire they could not quell.
Hands that defend are called cruel,
Voices that fight are drowned in shame,
Society judges the wounded heart,
Branding courage with its blame.
Still they walk through shadowed streets,
Bearing scars that gleam like stars,
For every hand that tried to break them,
They rise fierce, unbowed, and ours.
They will not vanish, they will not bend;
Made of impurities, yet forged as steel,
Shaped into the sharpest swords;
their truth, their fire, their unbroken will.
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