Ode to Māwiyya: The Lioness of Defiance

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They call it mercy—this gilded cage,
A crown of thorns in soft disguise.
They speak of safety, laws decreed,
While binding hands and dimming eyes.

Yet Māwiyya rode, her voice a storm,
No throne could tame, no blade subdue.
A queen, a warrior, fierce and free,
She bowed to none, nor bent to rue.

Now echoes rise in whispered halls,
A sister’s fight, a daughter’s stand.
They twist the truth, invert the wrong,
To make the just seem out of hand.

They strip the rights, deny the plea,
Rewrite the past, unwrite the free.
DARVO’s dance—a wicked game,
Where power shifts, but keeps the chain.

They claim to guard, to shield from harm,
Yet close the gates, let wolves roam near.
They wield their lies like swords of steel,
To fashion silence out of fear.

But we are more than hollow words,
More than shadows, meek and small.
Like Māwiyya, we ride the storm,
And rise unbroken through it all.

Not all who lead wear golden crowns,
Not all who fight must wield the blade.
For some wage war with steadfast truth,
And carve their freedom unafraid.

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