When a woman too busy to know Working in a parched field A wet construction site Or a sweltering factory floor Nurses a sick child

When a woman Feeds a parent Who has no more memory of her Or prepares a meal For her impatient family Pausing in the midst of her grueling day To wipe her face with the back of her hand To draw her sari tighter around herself And gets back, alas, To her all too slowly changing lot

When a woman violated By men who would harm her with impunity Hides her hurt behind a screen of shame And prevails with iron resolve With neither law nor justice On her side

Will she be even remotely aware That some of us are watching her, Full of admiration for her strength And her steady if slow advance in stature While entertaining fond hopes For her rapid betterment And future well-being For aren’t those the anchors To which the betterment And future well-being Of all of humanity tied to?