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They loved, they prayed. Like you, the women sought love away from home. They carried their pain in their wombs.
They were lost just like you. Seeking solace in your arms, they looked after your children, your sons who one day would become men.
They cried in the night, toiled the earth in the daylight.
They created and nurtured gardens, growing food for you to eat. They screamed at the sister, wanton of love, cursed. It was their bind.
They walked miles to the rivers carried buckets of waters on their heads, bare feet.
To be a woman, to bear the chains of the man.
They cooked your food, battered with the fisherman and the butcher to place fish and meat on your plate. You watched the hungry eyes of your children and chastised them. They feed you believing that the key to your heart lies in your stomach.
They washed your dirty clothes in the rivers. You moved from one shack to another, they who have no roots, doing the bidding of your master. The women cried alone at the death of a child, and there were so many.
We who have swallowed the bitter potion that has tainted our souls become emboldened by wearing a white bond around our appendage: Slave.
