The witches who aren’t ready to burn
AN ERA OF WITCHES WITHOUT BROOMS AND STICKS :
We were made to tango on the stings of lies, preprogrammed DNAs of cultural subjugation passed down. We were stripped naked of identity. For the longest time, we were faceless beings with lost stories and unuttered names. Regret flows through our veins, the trauma of my mothers and their unheard screams haunt the dreams I sleep into. No, was a word unknown, concealed. No was not the answer we were taught to give.
Then came a new dawn of the same day. A brighter shade of the same colour. The body tired of years of persecution, the vocal cords drumming under the ages of dust gathered, screams finally being heard. We embark on a daring feat, exploring the uncharted territory of emancipation. The emotional buildup of the unmeasurable sacrifice of the women preceding us was the final push.
Mothers relearning the alphabets of being women and passing down a new syllabus. Grandmothers housing a new tradition and reshaping the fairytales. It began at home. It was subtle for years, hiding in the corners of closed doors, behind the loud voice, we kept cultivating a new set of codes.
When I see around today I see the prophecy cried from the burning stakes, midst the crackling of wood and a hushed audience, a curse came back to haunt. Furious spirits of those who were wronged have reincarnated themselves with a motive of being heard this time. You can’t pass verdict on us, we aren't ready to submit. We are the witches, the troublemakers, the evil mothers and cursed daughters, the wicked wives and we aren't ready to burn this time!
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