Feminism and the Sword

A poem inspired by a discussion on Jane Eyre.

It was a time not long ago,

we were as simple slaves, although

for many years we did not know,

that we did not belong so low.

We began to understand.

 

One day, while working in the kitchen, I

heard another worker cry,

throw down her pots and stamp and sigh,

look up with storm clouds in her eye.

I felt a quiet shudder.

 

Others joined her thick and fast,

determined to erase the past,

and I was overjoyed - at last!

that we would join our brothers caste.

I wanted to be equal.

 

She would not allow the dream to die,

and one day under pale blue sky,

she sought to lift our spirits high,

and great bond between us tie.

This is what I heard her cry:

 

“We, brought low beneath the yoke of man,

Know power of our culture can

Save us, should we but mass and stand

Forcing them to understand,

The power of our right.

 

So strike hard the drum and start the band

The time of change is now at hand,

And as we march across the land,

They’ll fear the wind and shifting sand,

That lies beneath their feet.”

 

The sheer power of her words! they swept,

across our hearts. So many wept

to think that even now they crept

to minds that had so far just slept!

Soon they were awake.

 

And so it was that from that day,

when ignorance we sought to slay,

Man was forced to think that “they

are here for now, and here to stay”.

Level now, I smile.

 

And thus did we our fortunes make,

and Man, many-headed Hydra, break.

I stretch out a hand to shake

and on some faces friendship wake.

It seems we’ve reached our goal.

 

But no! Traitor! I hear her call,

and in her eyes I see the squall,

that fear of never standing tall

“we need not Man at all!”.

Not at all?

 

The blood in me begins to freeze,

and man is brought down to his knees.

She laughs, ignores the desperate pleas,

that tumble from his mouth, “that he

is not the same at all!”

 

Her eyes in anger seem to say

that “though we’re made from this same clay,

it shall be said I had my way.

You shall now be kept at bay,

I need you not at all!”

 

Now man as slave, we fear anew,

of Cupids aim, so straight and true.

Of his arrow piercing through,

and being branded “traitor!” too.

We dare not speak up.

Reviews

[Dove]

this poem is absolutely wonderful! you did an amzing job on it. Sometimes i dont read all of a long poem but this one kept me interested.Its amazing.GREAT JOB on this.