Many of us are born into some kind of tradition.
Taught a certain way of life.
Be it the street gangster code,
Or the old cultural rituals,
The nuclear family innovations,
Or a religious upbringing
Each of us is born into a particular set of rules
Some will come to love these teachings,
try as they may,
Will never feel at home,
in their home traditions.
I see a modern girl in an ancient world
Tired of long cloaks dyed with modesty
Of being draped head to toe in inhibitions
And left to envy the freedom of the morning mists.
Humility is oppressed upon her by men and women alike
Her eyes forced down everywhere she goes
But Oh, how she longs!
To gaze upon the mountain peaks
To climb up the willow tree
And dance in the verdant garden shades
Oh how she craves!
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