not feminism

not-feminism

not feminism

once upon a time
newborn girls were buried alive
out of shame

the world hasn’t changed
now we have no shame
we just extend the funeral procession
and women are walking dead

W.E.

Prior to Islam being established amongst the Arabs, Pagans, Christians, Jews and the like of the era would bury their female newborn alive.

A social norm, a collectively accepted and unquestioned custom.
At the outset of Islam, it abolished many social and cultural traits that were deemed inhumane, unjust and unlawful according to divine laws as prior espoused or by new dictates.

Women were to be offered rights the world had not seen or heard of,  seen in the light that they should be seen, the mothers of humanity, the only womb carriers, the only child bearers, in essence, the only warmth of mercy that can extend love appropriately to suckle humankind into social and spiritual cohesion.

This wave of beauty wouldn’t last long before men, being men do what they do and exhorting their social, political and physical dominance, interpreting texts and mandates as they see fit to suit their agendas and forcing a social oppression on the development of women.

Occasionally, a woman of grandeur would slip between the cracks of normality and society would see brilliance, mercy, beauty, kindness that was missing. Like a bosom engorging once again with milk that we all need to drink from after such a long pang of thirst from the origin of where we came from.

Such a woman, whether by force, or by the inability of the world to counter such beauty and mercy or whether it be by the utter mercy God may have protected her with comes and goes but they are looked at with marvel and disbelief. Heralded as saviours with utter ignorance of the perpetual miracles that take place daily in pregnancy, child birth and rearing amongst other meaningful and important things, albeit these things alone, placing her far above the achievements of men.

We now have male created industries of band aid solutions, with labels and slots conveniently appropriated, but otherwise monitored and manicured by men. Industries misleading women into a false ideal that they need to be represented by a silly label to be someone.

Well, it drains me, it literally anchors the soul of my existence to drudgery to have to constantly explain to both males and females alike, that not a soul possesses the right to oppress another soul, irrespective of gender.

In the context of the above, males reserve no right to hold women hostage, thus extending this pre-islamic cultural barbarity, spreading it beyond the pales of just ignorant Arab circles to the Colosseum of human fibre, to every nationality, religion and culture. Males, not religions, males, forcing their way on to women, entrenching our social narrative to appear on the surface with such labels as being pro-women, but in reality, still a cover of soil ready in their hands, to bury women’s voices, their opinions, their actions and their souls under the ground of our ignorance.

As such, my daughter does whatever my sons do. She will have to choose her path when I die and I would rather her raising her hands in litanies of hope for forgiveness and mercy for her father than calling upon Gods curse for the stifling I may have incurred.

I want no part of a male narrative ready to spit back into the womb that bore them. Ingrates, nothing more! There is nothing uglier than a man who will not acknowledge truth except on equal measure a woman that reinforces it or takes his words to be by default superior.

Superiority is through truth and action not gender and as Moses implored his Lord, I pray it manifests even if on my enemies tongue. I care not for the source as long as it is made manifest, truth after all is genderless, ironically why one of the meanings of the word Kufr is ‘covering’, in this context, a covering over truth.

It is knowing well in the pits of you the answer but choosing to intellectualise or philosophise against it for the establishment of nothing more than egotistical dominance.

W.E.

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