I was a shy and lonely girl
With the heavens in my eyes,
And as I walked along the lane,
I heard the echoes of her crise.

I cannot fight,
I cannot a warrior be;
It’s not my nature nor my teaching,
It is the womanhood in me.

I was a lost and angry youth,
There were no tears in my eyes.
I saw no justice in my world.
Only the echoes of her cries.

I cannot fight,
I cannot a warrior be;
It’s not my nature nor my teaching,
It is the womanhood in me.

I am an older woman now,
And I will heed my own cries,
And I will a fierce warrior be
‘Til not another woman dies.

I can and will fight.
I can and will a warrior be.
It is my nature and my duty,
It is the womanhood in me.

—Kim Baryluk

In the early morning, women gather in the marketplace
Carrying baskets, brimming with weariness of life—
On their heads, on their backs, in their arms.
Women gather…

Showing every detail of their poor lives,
They are pushed and pulled…
All are shouting for their lives...and struggle.

All day long they measure their bundles of life
With tubs, and scales, and yardsticks.
When darkness falls, the women depart,
Carrying on their heads the bitterness of life they have exchanged.

—Yun Dong-ju (1917-1945)

Blood in all the streets, running like a flood
There's no where to hide, no where that I can go
I reach out my hand, touching death itself
Just a holy day in Sarajevo

I can hear my heart, pounding like a clock
Hiding from the planes and from the bombing
Fire from the sky, burning down my life
There is no more love and no more longing

But when I close my eyes:
I dream of peace
I dream of flowers on the hill
I dream I see my mother smiling
When I close my eyes I dream of peace

Once I had a home, once my life was good
Once my mother sang to me and held me
Then the fire came, falling from the sky
There is no one left who can protect me

War's a wicked bird that never comes to rest
Feeding on the dreams of all the children
War's an evil bird flying in the dark
Every holy promise has been broken

But when I close my eyes:
I dream of peace
I dream of flowers on the hill
I dream I see my mother smiling
When I close my eyes I dream of peace

Can't you stop the war, bring it to a close
You are tall and strong and I am just a child
Can't we live in peace, stop the flowing blood
Make a blessed world where I can be a child

When you close your eyes:
Do you dream of peace?
Do you dream of flowers on the hill?
Do you dream you see your mother smiling?
When you close your eyes do you dream of peace?

Open up your eyes and give us peace.
—Judy Collins

Your children are not your children;
They are the sons and daughters of
Life's longing for itself.
They come through you
but they are not from you
And though they are with you

They belong not to you.

You may give them your love
but not your thoughts,
They have their own thoughts.
They have their own thoughts.
You can house their bodies but not their souls,
For their souls dwell in a place of tomorrow,
Which you cannot visit,
not even in your dreams.
You can strive to be like them,
but you cannot make them just like you.
Strive to be like them
but you cannot make them just like you

You may give them your love
but not your thoughts,
They have their own thoughts.
They have their own thoughts.
You can house their bodies but not their souls,
For their souls dwell in a place of tomorrow,
Which you cannot visit,
not even in your dreams.
You can strive to be like them,
but you cannot make them just like you.
Strive to be like them
but you cannot make them just like you

—Kahil Gibran

Perhaps it does not begin,
Perhaps it is always.

Perhaps it takes a lifetime
To open our eyes, to learn to see
What has forever shimmered in front of us—

The luminous line
of the map
in the dark

The vigil flame
In the house
Of the heart
The love
So searing
We cannot keep from singing,
From crying out
In testimony and praise.

Perhaps this day
Will be the mountain
Over which the dawn breaks.

Perhaps we will turn our face
Toward it,
Toward what has been
Always.

Perhaps our eyes
Will finally open
In ancient recognition,
Willingly dazzled,
Illuminated at last.

Perhaps this day
The light begins
In us.

—Jan Richardson

when she learned that
she didn’t have to plug into
someone or something

like a toaster into the wall

when she learned that she
was a windmill and had only to
raise her arms

to catch the universal whisper
and turn
turn
turn

she moved
oh, she moved

and her dance was a marvel

— Carol Lynn Pearson

Though I have been wounded; aching heart, full of pain.
Jus’ like a budding rose, my bloom is nourished by rain.
Haven’t time to wonder why, though fearful I strive.
My prayer and faith uphold my ‘til my courage arrives.

Still I rise as an eagle, soaring above ev’ry dear.
With each day I succeed, I grow strong an’ believe that it’s all…
Within my reach; I’m reaching for the skies,
Bolstered by courage, yes, still I rise.
Yes, it’s all within my reach I’m reachin’ for the skies,
Yes, still I rise.

Gentle as a woman; tender sweet are my sighs.
Strength is in my tears and healing rains in my cries.
Plunging depths of anguish,
I determine to strive.
My prayer and faith uphold me ‘til my courage arrives.

Though you see me slump with heartache;
Heart so heavy that it breaks.
Be not deceived I fly on birds’ wings,
Rising sun, its healing rays.

Look at me you see a woman;
Gentle as a butterfly.
But don’t you think, not for one moment,
That I’m not strong because I cry.
Yes, still I rise as an eagle…

—Rosephanye Powell