In the Court of Roosters

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In the court of law where patriarchy reigns,

A woman walks, with fire behind her eyes.

Bound by silence, unseen by the day,

Bartered in shadows, then cast away.


Like a cockroach beneath a rooster’s strut,

She crawls where justice keeps its eyelids shut.

Her truth is danger, her plea a stain,

Dismissed not by law, but contempt and disdain.


The halls of safety — crumbling, cold,

Where justice once stood, now bought and sold.

The gavel's echo mocks her pain,

A rhythm of loss, again and again.


She cries for help, but the air stays still,

The gods don't listen; fate bends to will.

A flare in the dark, swallowed by night,

Her signal extinguished, denied of light.


Marked by flames no eye will see,

She stands in scorched invisibility.

Yet through the ash beneath her feet,

A pulse begins — defiant, discreet.


A root, a spark, a quiet claim,

A vow not buried by sorrow or shame.

She speaks — though the world averts its ear,

And in her whisper, justice draws near.



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