Return of the Rising

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Feminism is the dawn after a long, silent night-

a gentle light slipping through old cracks, quiet yet unstoppable.


It is not a storm raging against the trees,

but a breeze whispering through their leaves,

reminding them of their strength, their right to stand.


Women are rivers once chained to mountains-

their waters held back, aching to flow free.

When they unbind themselves,

their currents carve new paths-

not to drown, but to nourish the land.


Her voice is a bell ringing in a sleeping town-

soft at first, then impossible to ignore.

Her resolve is a flame that refuses to be smothered-

illuminating the darkest corners of the world.


Her steps are roots breaking through concrete-

patient, persistent, unstoppable.

And when she rises,

it is the sun lifting the morning fog-

revealing what was always there,

waiting to be seen.


Feminism is the homecoming of a long-lost child-

returning to the place that has always been hers.

And as she climbs,

the old ladder creaks and breaks-

not because she is falling,

but because the earth beneath her is shifting,

opening wide to let her stand tall.


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