<p>Why Is It Always the Woman, Why Not the Man?</p><p><br/></p><p>Why is it always the woman, they cry, </p><p>Whose heart bears the weight of the world’s heavy sigh? </p><p>Why not the man, with his strength and his will, </p><p>Step to the fire, share the load, stand still? </p><p>The question burns bright, like a spark in the night, </p><p>A challenge to norms that have dimmed human light. </p><p>For too long the scales have been tipped to one side, </p><p>Leaving women to carry what men let subside. </p><p><br/></p><p>In the annals of time, roles were carved deep in stone, </p><p>Patriarchs ruled, set the world’s ancient tone. </p><p>Women, the keepers of hearth and of kin, </p><p>Wove life’s soft threads while men ventured to win. </p><p>The hunt, the field, the coin’s clinking call, </p><p>Men claimed the world, while women held all— </p><p>The home, the heart, the unspoken demand, </p><p>To nurture, to mend, with a tireless hand. </p><p><br/></p><p>But why, in this age, when the old ways should fade, </p><p>Does the woman still bear the debts never paid? </p><p>The dishes, the diapers, the tears softly dried, </p><p>The birthdays remembered, the fears set aside. </p><p>She’s the weaver of peace, the mender of seams, </p><p>The keeper of moments, the builder of dreams. </p><p>Yet the man, often spared, walks a lighter road, </p><p>Unburdened by duties that women are owed. </p><p><br/></p><p>Society whispers, its voice sharp and clear, </p><p>Through ads and old tales that we’re taught to revere. </p><p>The woman, it says, is the heart’s gentle guide, </p><p>Her patience, her grace, are her duty, her pride. </p><p>The man, cast as stoic, his heart locked away, </p><p>Is freed from the labor of love’s day-to-day. </p><p>A mother’s misstep draws a judgmental stare, </p><p>While a father’s small effort wins praise everywhere. </p><p><br/></p><p>Why not the man, with his heart just as wide, </p><p>Take up the load, stand by her side? </p><p>Why must she carry the weight of the years, </p><p>The unspoken grief, the invisible tears? </p><p>The world paints her role with a soft, tender hue, </p><p>But the brushstrokes are heavy, the colors untrue. </p><p>For every task she’s expected to do, </p><p>A man could step forward, his hands able too. </p><p><br/></p><p>From childhood, the lessons are sown in our minds, </p><p>Girls taught to nurture, to always be kind. </p><p>Boys learn to conquer, to stand tall and bold, </p><p>While empathy’s weight is left for girls to hold. </p><p>These seeds grow to habits, to roles we obey, </p><p>Women give all, while men turn away. </p><p>Not from malice, perhaps, but from what they’ve been told— </p><p>That strength lies in silence, not hearts that unfold. </p><p><br/></p><p>The toll is not small, for the woman who bears </p><p>The second shift’s grind, the unending cares. </p><p>After work’s long hours, she comes home to more— </p><p>The laundry, the meals, the emotional chore. </p><p>Burnout creeps softly, a thief in the night, </p><p>Stealing her joy, dimming her light. </p><p>Yet men, too, lose something in this rigid frame, </p><p>Locked out of love’s warmth by a masculine name. </p><p><br/></p><p>Why not the man, with his soul just as deep, </p><p>Hold the child’s hand, sing the weary to sleep? </p><p>Why not share the burden, the joy, and the pain, </p><p>Let both hearts be open to sunshine and rain? </p><p>The question demands that we look to the core, </p><p>Of why we accept what was set long before. </p><p>It’s not just her fight, but a call for us all, </p><p>To rise, to rethink, to answer the call. </p><p><br/></p><p>To change this old story, we must start anew, </p><p>Teach boys and girls what is human, not “due.” </p><p>Let empathy bloom in each heart, young and old, </p><p>Let caregiving cease to be gendered, controlled. </p><p>Policies, too, must shift with the tide— </p><p>Equal leave for parents, no roles to divide. </p><p>Let media sing of men tender and strong, </p><p>Who cradle, who listen, who right what is wrong. </p><p><br/></p><p>The world must unlearn its old, tired refrain, </p><p>That women alone bear the heart’s heavy chain. </p><p>Let men step forward, their hands open wide, </p><p>To share in the labor, to stand side by side. </p><p>For equity’s promise is not hers alone, </p><p>But a gift to us all, in the seeds we have sown. </p><p>Why is it always the woman, they say? </p><p>Let’s make it both, and start today. </p><p><br/></p><p>The question’s a mirror, reflecting our flaws, </p><p>A chance to rewrite the world’s ancient laws. </p><p>No more “just women” to carry the load, </p><p>No more “just men” on a separate road. </p><p>Together we labor, together we mend, </p><p>The heart of the world where all burdens blend. </p><p>Why is it always the woman, why not the man? </p><p>Let both hold the future in the palm of their hand. </p><p><br/></p><p><br/></p><p><br/></p>
Why is it always the woman, why not the man?
By
Chidinma Emilia
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