she walks alone
barefoot in the paddies of rice
breaking her back for some precious grains
she walks alone
in jo’burg town with a black eye
smacked around by him the previous painful night
she walks alone
in the streets of neon hazed manila
along the pristine hedges of rotten London
on the crowded pavements of lonesome New Delhi
across the rolling plains of the vast bounteous pampas
over the winding back-ways of the sloping and grimy favelas
on the glittering pavements of rich and sweetly-scented Jeddah
through the blindingly false boulevards of that sad Los Angeles town
she walks alone
bearing the burden of mother and daughter
of cook and sweeper and wife and mistress and punching-bag
she walks alone
through your streets and mine
standing up as she is beaten more down
loving a little as the bruises on her face turn purple
feeding the little ones with morsels of hastily cooked beans
she walks alone
in factories and in mills and in buses
in schools and in brothels and in place in-between
she walks alone
staying alive on the alms of the rich
violated by those who from the pulpit preach
she walks alone
my sister and yours
my mother and yours too
my lover and your beloved as well
she walks alone
caged by society in its invisible prison
a slave of norms and culture and religion and caste
she walks alone
but she is the conscience of me and you
screaming at us silently in hunger and despair
she walks alone
and though fearful of you men she may seem
be warned that she may not forever be this alone
for she too dreams and thinks and believes
for she too needs and wants and loves and weeps
in the silent night of complacency while impotent mankind sleeps
and she too will rise and in rising slay
the beasts that in your callous hearts prowl and lay
and she too will demand her rightful place
for every mother and sister and lover and daughter has a real face
