She, the keeper

He waits for the dark to engulf him.
He finds that rather safe.
The moonlight sways to tease his eye
but gets lost in the alley’s haze.

     She walks alone, her home in sight
     of the city that’s asleep.
     He makes his move. Under the street lamps high,
     he bids to daunt her grace.

She fends him off.
"That daring bitch! How dare she stay out late!
And then to say she’s not for takes ...
what insolent craze!"

     A city swells in loud lament,
     its reputation at stake!
     What’s changed so much? Why do evils rise now
     from celebrations’ daze?

"The winter’s winds are warmer", you say,
"And the streets are rife with life!"
What one would think as grand design
is another’s watcher’s maze.

     You blame the wind, the people new.
     You blame the men in chair,
     while all the while their clout returns
     its misogynistic gaze.

"Times have changed!" you beat your chest
so someone sane might hear.
But what should work with the culture-cross
is lost in its own embrace!

     Come, World. As one, let’s unite,
     for all change is in the mind.
     An ethos heaves to meld its styles while
     Grit’s own chaperone pays.

Oh! Dark! Let your curse be short-lived now.
Let your terror become paled.
Oh! Moon! Will your light be sweet again?
Will her daring yet lose face?! 

     Oh! Mother of he who preys on her,
     will you be there to show
     that while he lurks in darkness’s fold
     you’ll be her shield, unfazed?

Tell him now, that she is you
in as much as you are her.
That a woman’s womb is mankind’s lair -
its power never sways.

     Tell him now, to hold his own.
     He’s not temptation’s keep!
     Tell him he’s as equal as her,
     whatever bigotry says.

Tell her too, that she’s not weak.
Her freedom is no prisoner.
Tell Night that it should free her soul
and release her to liaise.

     Or, do this. Look him in the eye
     and make him contemplate.
     Is it that he is afraid that she might soar?
     And dare. And beat! And amaze.

Hold him tight and ask him so.
Or say that your love is blind.
And admit that you are weak as well -
that you too will avert Question’s gaze.

     Who made this rule
     that he is tough and she will always flee?
     What vile plan has mustered
     such a regressive blaze?

And what has Knowledge taught you?
Are our schools not meant to be
that playground of high wisdom
where learning carves new ways?

     Ask yourself, you Moral’s slave,
     "What greatness can I find
     in kicking Dame Fortune’s image
     while singing her hymns of praise?"

It’s a travesty when Liberty fails
and a society will not see 
that a woman free makes man whole.
She’s another mother’s brace.

     You fool, awake! It’s Destiny’s cry.
     She’s not some prize to play.
     She’s your sense, your means to stay. 
She, is your maker. She’s the keeper of your race!