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Women should think about a mother a sister a daughter a wife a doctor a lawyer an engineer a carpenter a home maker a care giver a house keeper a gardener a chef a spiritual spirit a believer a lover a friend a scientist a professor a teacher a student a farmer a traveler a salesperson a banker a sex worker a pilot a victim a criminal  all persona's who they identify with, not just for the ones, who belong to their family, but all the ones who they see, read about and meet regularly, don't just live in a vicious circle, made by the women that you know, understand the women that you don't, try not to pin point their mistakes, try understanding their point of view, don't just poke fun by insulting their hue, try standing along with them in a similar queue, try putting them ahead of you, don't just ride in the darkness of pride, try lighting the backdrop of an innocent side. *pic courtesy: Canva Happy Women's Day ❤️

There's not much

There’s not much for me..
As I could see.
Only the waves that left ashore..
Tides preceded to end it’s roar.
There’s not much for me..
As words felt blank.
Only by the grave to be rest assure..
Tears fled to bend the choir.
There’s not much for me..
But a glance next door..
At the forever friendly lad..
Who said you finally spoke I am glad.
There’s not much for me..
Only madness in store..
To keep breathing insecure..
While gripping on to a stranger feels pure.
There not much for me..
Only a tiny bird that sings in love..
Squeaked by a squirrel..
Get over it you aren’t visible as a dove.
There’s not much for me..
Only drizzles thundering rain clouds..
Distant giggles murmuring doubts..
That instantly might lead myself to fame.
Peeping through holes ..
Akwardly pronouncing my name.
There’s not much for me..
Since that life is gone..
When troubled by the stone..
Aimed it to break the river bone.
There’s not much for me..
A road driving home..
Keys unlocking storms..
Wrestling to open clogged up drains.
There’s not much for me..
Only stars that are somewhere outside.
Too far to catch them anyway..
Figurative forms of defining the milky way.
As night swallow the inside.
There’s not much for me..
But the whole sea..
Staring up to me..
While I embrace my face..
That got ignored for too long.
There’s not much for me..
Now I can’t make believe how..
It’s me who stands and talks..
It’s me who gets up and walks…
Stop pretending to be the shadow that stalks..
There’s a whole lot of me…
When you run into mornings..
While darkness lurks.

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