Art like song, decoration, literature, and classical dances
A woman’s place is limited by humanity’s narrowness,
What else in the metaphors of a poem without women?
If the heart underneath the chest of man be that of a human
Then is not the heart beneath the woman’s breast also a human’s?
You have bounded the woman to her hearth by religions
And covered her from head to toe in ornamental clothes.
Again, in the name of modernity and pseudo feminism-
Sometimes you have rendered her naked, mad or drunk.
From the age of Adam to the age of Krishna’s Kali avatar
You have left the woman as she is, not as a human.
Your orchestration of civility is so base
That you have divided humans and labeled some as women
There is no place for the title of woman in the wild,
Nobody has names, and none call each other by name
And yet they are not like men, cruel and divisive.
You have given women the “rights of a prisoner”
Have you ever considered giving her the right to be human?
Did Prometheus steal the Fire of Heaven-
For the love of men alone?
Your good deeds are boasted across the Human World.
And what of the Woman!
Woe, she is witless, simple and has lived inside a hut.
In all the world’s wars, debates and failures
You have wrecked, raped, and pillaged women,
And worn the garland of victory and manhood
You have been honored with authorize scholarships
With the titles of “Warlord”, “Freedom Fighter”, or “King”.
But to woman, you have only given the spoils of the terror unleashed,
And while thus you bask in the glory of your name,
The woman suffers shame even within the walls of her home.
And this, this “men” is the measure of your chivalry.
You seek women in rebellion, in heat, in sadness and in chastity
But never do you seek her as a human.
You have played God and taken her measure in fire
And pushed her into Hell’s hot fire.
You have given her the place of a Goddess;
You have called her Mother and honored the best
Have you ever given her place of a human?
In mosques, temples, brothel or at home-
You had women as you always wanted them to be.
Whorehouse, brothel, knocking shop, bagnio, Randi
All made into feminine words, and never masculine,
The Woman has become the contents of enjoyment,
Then why not the man?
Have you ever seen a male belly dancer ?
Have your society ever demanded for a male virgin ?
Or, you ever seen a male prostitute?
To the weak gratify women and their lives
You say how sad they are about their plight!
But you never been able to equal their rights.
Your crocodile tears and gratitude are the seeds of patriarchy
A trick to separate humanity and keep women enslaved.
Mostafa Shabuj is a freelance journalist and poet from Bangladesh. He completed his M.A. in Sociology from South Asian University, New Delhi, India. He writes poem and articles both in Bengali and English for numerous newspapers and magazines.
This poem was initially written in Bengali and later translated by Abir Lal Mazumder; a budding researcher who hails from West Bengal, India. Currently he is pursuing his PhD from Sociology Department, South Asian University, New Delhi.