From fields of wheat to city-lit streets

I have seen the world and the people change.

But the hands that grasp, the mouths that preach,

Have never softened, only rearranged.

I have curled at the feet of wise young girls,

Watched them blossom, watched them burn.

Men feared the fire in their words and hands-

So they lit their own, took turns.

I saw my first girl swallowed by flames,

Labeled witch for knowing too much.

The next one hanged, the rope bit deep,

For daring to lead, for daring to touch.

Through centuries I passed from hand to hand,

A silent witness to their pain.

A mother, a daughter, a sister, a wife—

Each one told to know her place.

And now, you say the world has changed.

No more burnings, no more noose.

But I have seen the way they twist their fire—

Now it’s laws, now it’s news.

They take your voice, they take your name,

They mock, they doubt, they rearrange.

They tell you choice is yours alone,

Then build the walls, then lock the cage.

You stroke my fur and whisper low,

“It isn’t like before.”

But child, I have seen the world revolve—

And I have heard those words before.