Her cry

Please Read..

My  mother conjures the stove fire;

and waves her knife upon the okra.

Sleeping next to her, I behold;

Her fingers bruised, chafed, singed;

In this culinary activity, 

reposed beneath her face, halcyon yet.

I dream 'bout the time she was a bride,

in her new abode(my dad's gaff), 

in embellished red, at the wedding night.

The dawn saw my dad's dad biding adieu,

and- She cried, sobbed, sulked beside his pyre.

The point is- A woman is strong,

yet   she cries, 'cause she has virulent emotions.

Her cacophonous, strident weal 

disturbs even the stone-hearted;

An encoded embassage to the arrogant

that a sensitive heart is stronger 

than mature sinews.

This, they fail to decipher,

and the handful malevolent would first effort

to shut her cry, 

In the process of proving their masculinity;

 'cause that is shaking them

 and turning the good up in them.

But they are imbecile, and end up

doing the condemnable, shutting 

the only thing that could refrain them.

Those sexist persecutors are but insecure.

She feels our pain, hence the cry.

She shows she's sad, hence the cry.

Her cry is not a badge of impotence.

Her cry can make you cry.