Oh, time, you’re running fast with my age in hand,
Leaving me no chance to think over then to stand
By the change in our life, that of a new brand;
No way to enjoy the womanly fulfillment in our land!
Hang on, go back to my youth
To see that the little tress-haired girls, now so old,
Who dared not swing with boys or perch on a tree,
Walking shyly at the back of the flock, are now bold;
Those once imprisoned by their own silence are free.
Go back to my youth
To see the obedient, sensitive teens, once like me,
Who used to weep and fret about any ill albeit wee,
Are now steel-armed with teeth not tears of a crocodile,
Are now able to get their bodies and minds to reconcile.
Give me back my youth
To Keep on giving recesses from what I formerly got:
Knowledge to youngsters, whether currently apt or not;
Let me teach recognition of their skills and contribute
To the girls’ awareness; they may pay themselves tribute.
Give me back my youth!
I may’ve got weak but my brain can still ponder a feat;
Let me try to clean some minds, remove pure wit in
Out of its bran and invite in snobs with hope to preen
And accept the change, the new values, true and neat.
Then hurry up with my age!
My remaining days will braise on a fire that is smooth;
Its flavour, pride of my womanhood, will tell you the truth
That I believe in my fellows’ defy and deal with any bad tooth.
Then, I can get escorted, white-clothed, to my earthy booth.
So take all my age, take my life!
© Photo by Kaoutar Rouas
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