Produced like animals,  

Brought up with the trials of being human,  

Trained to serve men – responsible for feeding often,  

And care?  

On occasions;  

Women, instead, are grateful for their survival,  

For not being butchered, beaten, or eaten.  

 

Like cattle, they don’t decide when to produce the next lot,  

When to milk and when to step out for grazing;  

Their shackles are named safety, 

Their restrained freedom is the man’s kingdom.  

 

No laws are practiced to buy or sell them.  

They exist like a crowd on the truck  

With destiny pre-decided and controlled exposure.  

Men continue to be the chauffeur  

Of trucks carrying well-planned closure.  

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