Tale Of Tradition

This is the tale of a realm where the Paterfamilias rule.

All reside under their strong fist.

Their herculean shoulder bears the heavy weight.

Their masculine intelligentsia govern the wind and bluster the politics.

The Patriarchs knows all.

Their palatial edifice is erected upon the biased base.

Since the ancient times with their exertion, 

They've maintained the custom.

Their walls speak of inequality.

The windows open to the desert of oppression.

Their threshold is chained.

The sudor pouring off their rugged forehead bespoke of their labour.

They control all.

They're the lord

They're the master.

Just them and only them,

None is worth ruling except for them.

There are other inhabitants of this land too.

The 'other' 

The 'inferior'

The 'subjugated'

The misogynistic scriptures tell these others to embrace their transgressions.

The foul manipulation of the Patriarchs misled the other to their own perdition.

The parti pris dogma tells them,

"to tame their form"

"soften their pitch" 

"bow their head"

"manoeuvre their conduct" 

 "lower their gaze"

The Patriarchs curtail their reach.

For they're the lord,

They're the master,

They control all.

The father of their father,

The great men, The warrior, The sire.

What about the mother?

She's nameless.

She's the other.

It's a Patronymic tradition. 

The mother carries the heir in her womb.

Nourish the heir through her glands.

But the heir bears the name of the Father and the Forefathers.

For they're the lord,

They're the master,

They control all!

They indoctrinate the suppression in the name of tradition.

Injustice is the ratification.

Inequality is the affirmation.

The malady of the patriarchy is passed unto the generations and glorious it shines.

The murderous glory!

-Rifat Siddiqui