This isn’t a story
But brutal truth
A virus breathes
Within these veins

Here barren lands
Give birth to thorns
Once the damage is done
It’s too late to mourn

Brothers and sons
From sacred wombs
Marching in dominance
Towards their tombs

Absent lessons of love
And respectful care
Why submissive grieve
‘Let’s kill this snare’

Mothers and daughters
Sisters and wives
Source of creation
In gendered disguise

Though sweet is the lust
To win this domain
When submission is shared
True love is gained


Amit Howard