Woman, don’t raise such a hue and cry,
Of course you were raped, know why?
That poor man to his soul was sick,
Why were you out playing, at age six?
And you, at sixty, were fully clothed you claim?
Conceal or reveal, woman, your sex is to blame.
Oh, pipe down you! Don’t you have any shame?
You wrecked his home, life and good name.
‘You’ were duty-bound towards ‘his’ children and wife,
The helpless guy has nothing to do with marital strife.
These poor men, none of them purposely stray,
These innocent lambs to wily women fall prey!
Ouch! Woman, you think you can get away with that!
Screaming this man or that one is a despicable rat?
Dowry? Blame it on your ma-in-law’s greed,
Neither her husband nor yours could satisfy her need.
Nincompoops they certainly are not,
It is in the woman’s mind, all the rot!
Don’t waste your breath; don’t speak out for your kind,
You’ll have the others wriggling in a self-righteous bind.
You must not question, you must not object or reason,
Be not yourself, or be ready to be tried for treason
Against the harried, bullied, silently suffering tribe,
To whom not an iota of blame must you ascribe.
Fifty percent of your woes woman, they say you deserve,
The other fifty percent? Your fate they wisely observe;
So don’t dare fault anyone else for all your doing,
That – do be sure woman – will be your undoing.
Of course they love you, call you a blessing and more,
But point a genuine finger at them and they’ll be sore.