She’s probably flown in on her witch’s broom As her sullen starchiness sweeps the room She looks around her and she spies Young women having a good time She glowers at the girls In their shorts and in their skirts The lines between her brows grow grim Huddling together like dowager twins Then they rise up in stark rebuke Clamouring, hammering “I’m judging you!”
He sits in the cafe looking around A smoking gun dangling from his mouth As he peers over the smoke It’s gnarled fingers like a cloak Hide the vileness in his eyes He stares at the woman who sits alone She ignores his lecherous stare He taps his gun, his yellow teeth bared Smoke-grey lips curl into an ugly “U” Leering, sneering “I’m judging you!”
This judiciary are the insidious dregs Of a society that has no legs No kind eyes. Their hearts are still Yet they sit there determined to fill Precious spaces in our lives With their hats and their beehives. They hold on to crass old ways As their own insecurities play Out an age old tune Croaking, choking “I’m judging you!”
Give not a hoot nor a call To them sitting in their Halls Of Judgement. They are not fit Not a thimble, not a whit! Stand your ground with those that will Force upon you their own bitter pills Calmly cut them down to size Look them in their jaundiced eyes When you spy their mottled souls Their power fades to judge you at all
Live your life how you will Reach for the stars, ride the wind May you always find your spark Even when all around you is dark Move away when you feel dragged Down, down; making you feel bad. Build within you your own compass Of dignity, courage and kindness So that the only one ever judging you Is YOU dear one, only ever you.
She gets out of the car, adjusting her shalwar The legs one mustn’t behold, out of their fabric strongholds The ankles though, for a moment show Their shameful curvature.
It can’t be helped you see, we are bipedal beings But we can’t see the nuances of practical biology When blinded by the nobility of our formidable patriarchy, And cloaked in out great Fervour of faith.
And so she bends just a little to adjust the errant drape And while she endeavours, to hold together Her blessed modesty Some man out there, finds her morality in disrepair What is she bending for, like a dirty, depraved w****!
And the floods of moral outrage at this corrupt spectacle In their godly country, cause a debacle Every man takes it upon himself to deface this hideousness He then looks to his companions, all now chomping at their bits
They rush upon this evil scene, of the wicked and immoral queen For a queen she is, from head to toe. Evil, wicked, shameful though! She makes their blood gush in great floods Testosterone-filled, Squelching like mud She makes their heads swim in strange ways Where she is master and they are slaves.
God does not permit, such sacrilege Where genders abandon their rightful places Men are meant to lead them forth Moral compasses pointing true north Held aloft by everything, a woman does, from breathing in To the way she walks in crowded streets: Ankles hidden, inconspicuous feet.
And that is why an errant sister in faith (A woman who is alone and out and about!) Reeking of impudence in her unveiled state (Putting her entire morality in doubt!) May naturally be seen by her brothers devout As a wanton woman standing at hell’s gates.
The Roaming Desi 