Women Rights poems bring the best collection of short and long women rights poetry. Poems for him and her and every poetry lover. These great women rights rhymes are so amazing they will touch your heart and keep you craving for more. Hope you find your own deep meanings in these women rights poems. They are decent, rhyming, free spirited and true. Thoughts on women rights are here for you.
“O you woman! Why do you after all submit To who that ever hurts and hits, Causes you only sufferings Distresses are his offerings. And gives you nothing Except tongue-lashes And choicest accusations? What after all do you get From
From inner room to open field, from kitchen countertop to office desk, her travails remain the same. Everyday she tells stories that draws tears from hearers’ eyes, unceasingly, stories that elicit sympathy-she relates to her listeners; beyond description account on
Ceremonial Rituals in Hindu Religion smacks the logic Daughters and Sons though born in the same womb are differentiated Son’s carry the paternal ancestral legacy while Daughters are abandoned midway to assume In laws legacy Sons may not look after
The women on the stage have become a Shaker community I like especially how they make me believe in their imperfections when they talk act together softly squabble each with a unique inner light I’m enchanted by seeing who they
She gave us life. She will be someone’s wife. She is a girlfriend and someone’s best friend. She is a sister and a survivor to the end. When you struggle she pull you through and help you again. All of
friends are someone.. who meet each other- to share joy and sorrow and celebrate happy moments together. here my friends-never I had the chance to see them face to face. we share a world made with the trust of god’s
Just because your turn has not come, Doesn’t mean there is no future. Even though everyday feels wearisome, You haven’t seen the bigger picture. Don’t compare your race with another, Everyone has a different finish. Switching tracks, shoes, trying to
Ages ago, story of a girl Dejected for what she looked Thinking just fair and beautiful Had rights to glory booked Did not realize that beauty Lies in the eyes of beholder Always self deprecated Life felt like a boulder
When I was a young man I chased them by the score. They were fast, young and lean. Conquest was my aim, seduction was the game. Procreation, I was playing with biology’s rules. I cared very little about much more.
Dear son, African American warrior, Reincarnation of the people of the Sudan. I hope you understand why I am writing you this letter. And hopefully, by the time you read it Race relations in America are a lot better than what
When I close my eyes at night there is darkness. When my eyes open in the morning there is light. I pray that the world will experience a brightness of fortitude where all men, all women, and all animals can
My room was the old garage attached to the house festooned with posters and dirty underpants my father’s Mercedes was a sacred relic with a flavor of old leather upholstery. It rested in its own building. there must have been
Oh, my husband, he is too soft, giving everything, I ask, but not trusting me, keeping all savings, himself, And asks, “what is money for, am giving all that you need”; That’s not right, am wounded and so, don’t like
Sinners hurt. While moonlight cracks open like a walnut, spreads soft light across open sky, they dart to alleyways, bury themselves behind their own trails shaking fists at the sky; hiding their nasty nonsense in shame, city buildings rattle their
A motley group had made an affiliation of sorts It sprouted and mushroomed in our back lane And there was born a poetry club with no name Passion it was for the verses written in Urdu That linked them beyond
It’s one of those mornings that welcomes whiskey and soda with open arms. The Sun and I, more or less, feel the same way about getting out and conquering the world. ‘Well, it’s not our turn today’, we tell ourselves.
It Breaks my heart Rips my soul apart When every morning the newspaper reads And various news feeds, talk about Girls and women, young and old being savagely raped and killed or sold It breaks my heart Rips my soul
In a world of dreams and imaginations, There’s perfection, make-believe stories. All’s the way, we wish life to be. With equality, without disease, Over populated places. All reside in mansions, have beautiful bodies. Love is as the Cinderella story. King
You, The Oceans of Beauties, Master of all treasures beautiful. Within moments you can make us laugh, Within no time,You can have us crying. Beautiful you are, the source of all beauty, Creator of everything that looks pretty. Beautiful landscapes
She showed up in a faded dress of beige Quite decent, till the time when she sat down And then again when she has crossed her legs This time though, there’s no charge for what she’d shown ‘The clothing shortage
Ode to Pablo Neruda There are poets of the day, the sun, the stones, in whose words, the world is a caged bird, that has forgotten its wings. They repeatedly tell us facts that we just can’t refute. And there
A miserable hospital scene, with shouts and painful sobs, With fractures, wounds and injuries of various calamities, And my friend, one among them, cancerous, with no hope, Not weeping, but talking and laughing, as he was, years back, In our
In good old days I built adobe houses for each memory but then came flooding, freezing and again flooding even the scarecrow’s shirt discolored in our orchard with red apples However you still ask me what happened, how do I
Overwhelmed, the sky precipitates, pouring its guts out; luckily I sit on the dry side of the pane, snugly… smugly… till… A pigeon flits, looking for its 6 inches, as all around birds fight for every inch; a dog dives
Could there be other angels half as fair? As sweet love of mine of the fairest heart? Here’s to tell everyone and all, beware, My love is pure, has changed not any part; Her aspect of such comely pulchritude, A
In this part of the story, I will be the poet, and you my muse. I’ll draw my inspiration from Your chestnut brown lips, Your curved mustache And lustful eyes. I’ll float my words around you, Scratch them out and
I come from a country called India The women here are known for the Bindiya Here there’s lot do with name Khan And the yummy banarasi Paan the land of Bollywood where rice is the staple food Ever increasing rate
She was like a blooming flower on that colorful vase. Swaying away to all that glitters.. flashing smiles, vibrant .. Radiant.. She was a bold reflection of self-doubt, provoked by silence elusive as a dream.. as moon light crossed her
That boy who broke your heart? Don’t try to push him out of your life. It won’t happen like that. Stalk him. Visit his Facebook page every day. Be jealous when he puts up updates of hanging out with women
Though not a right, may I seek a fading, but yet worthy pursuit? For the many whose pursuit of chastity in marriage grinds to a halt, Could it not be due in part to being pulled toward illusions of grandeur?
The watcher, he sits over there, Staring,I can see him staring his evil glare, He’s the watcher, he watches ’till I sleep, Then he’ll come for me creep, creep, I drift alone into a world of dread, I cannot move,can’t