On a dusty road, one sunny morning.
Looking forlorn and laden, clothe in white.
She walks, carrying the burden of her very birth.
Following close behind, was the multitude of crowd.
With eyes that seems to satisfy their small ego.
Faces that seems to justify themselves of all holiness.
Every step forward was a step backward in humanity.
Deep in her heart, in the very core of her soul.
A curse that has been inscripted from ages past.
Running deep in her vein from generation to another.
Practices, believed and followed, as a religion.
Some would like her to believe its fulfillment of a duty.
Encumbered and oppressed within her small world.
The window to the outside world closed and bolted tight.
She has no means of breaking free from this chain.
It is fate that binds her and blinds the rest.
For, values are not attached to individual's self respect.
Nor the silent voices that cry's out from deep within.
Crying out loud to be heard and to be understood.
Does any man have the right to deny her existence?
She be wedded to one, but is not she still an individual?
It is fate that allows man to be maker of laws.
It is fate that she be born a woman of a woman.
It is also fate that she be led this day to her fate.
Fate that we all choose to call the sacrificial pyre.