I am not sure why to head up but,
barefoot burnt on sands tell,
the bottom and phantom
the down and dark from
Yin to Yang no doubt.
When shall my voice begin?
Is my "why" fighting?
Expand your eyes out of pyramid,
where sight is always forbid.
Then shrivel slide down deep,
where blood jars our pillars in rip,
so be silent and,
See:
Our blindness in mind while foot
binding in three inches,
and you call our
mindlessness is a flowering
Yin!
Or beautiful sin elegant swing whatsoever,
Has the thing been cut, ever?
Then why my wings are taken,
Still!
By color of skin which my tanness is shamed,
By chances of education that daughters are shut,
By factories of county where light isn't reached,
By ages of marriage bride price will be forced,
By claws of traffickers who makes tears muted,
Extra or did you ever deny,
picture us with a car look so fine?
So now my sight is counting,
from side of bliss to one another sigh,
And laughs at the top mouthing
——we are reaching you another half of sky;
hang on,
Isn't the earth a round circle?
Isn't the liberty equally spread?
Aren't mothers and sisters standing by your line?
Aren't the law of liberty should be on we all?
Otherwise why we are still a sign of Yin?
Or the third party,
the second best,
and the,
first,
to sit at home.
Throwing five thousands years back,
Yin is the sign of hell.
(This is the month of women's right and say enough to any form of inequality on women, they might be your mother, sister, wife, or lets just say, aren't we the same part of human race. So here is a little poem about Chinese feminism. Yin, means one's negativity which always relate to female)
YOU ARE READING
Tigress from the east
شِعرA poetry collection written by a Chinese girl. Biggest life goal of her: sitting in perfect balance of daylights and nights, back towards a mysterious naked tree, a cup of chai is better than coffee. Thinking, turn a being as living
