Did Women Have a Renaissance?

They say the world was reborn then,
Ink spilling like rivers,
Paint blooming on canvases,
New maps unfurling across oceans,
A time of light after the dark.
But I question.
Did women have a Renaissance?
Men strutted in doublets,
Their quills scratching futures,
Their ships conquering horizons,
Their names etched in marble.
And women?
Still corseted into silence,
Still traded like dowries,
Still taught that virtue was a womb
And not a mind.
Ah, the irony stings,
A woman sat on the throne,
The Virgin Queen, crowned with power,
Yet her sisters knelt
Beneath the same old chains.
Elizabeth’s face stamped on coins,
Her words echoed in Parliament halls,
But the voices of women
The mothers, the poets, the thinkers
Remained locked in kitchens,
Pressed between prayer books,
Or burned at stakes for daring to question.
They call it a rebirth
Whose birth was it, I ask?
Men birthed their philosophies,
Their sciences, their arts, and called it Universal.
But Universe that erases half its starsIs a galaxy of lies.
So no, we did not have a Renaissance.
Not then, not now.
We had survival.
We had the quiet rebellion,
Of letters hidden in diaries,
Of songs sung in secret,
Of minds that refused to die
Though no man wrote them down.
Perhaps that is our Renaissance
Not in gilded halls or scholarly works
But in the relentless question,
When history is reborn,
Why must women still beg for life?
2. In the Hospital Waiting Hall
The clock ticks soft, yet it feels heavy as a stone,
Each second reminds me, I am not alone.
The hum of machines, the shuffle of feet,
Lives colliding in sorrow’s seat.
Children cry in their mother’s arms,
I hear silent prayers to prevent the harm.
An old man groans with pain and exhaustion,
Dreaming of comfort instead of diets and caution.
The nurses check their blood pressure,
Of people with burdens and stress with no measure,
Announcements echo, names are called,
Sharp and cold,
Waiting for consultations to unfold.
Some eyes are glazed with endless fear,
Others glimmer with hope too near.
Hands clasp tightly and lips move slow,
Prayers for a tomorrow they’ll never know.
The smell of medicine and spirit
Sharp and clean,
Wraps itself around my worries unseen.
I sit and count the patients before us once more,
I impatiently glance around and stare at the doctor’s door.
In every sigh, a world breaks down,
In every smile, relief is found.
And I’m just, waiting here, heart in my hands,
Caught in the current of life’s demands.
And I spill my anxiety as I wait for our turn,
Wondering what will be said and when we’ll return.
3. Before We Learned Our Names
Before we learned our names,
They chose our colours in quiet claims.
A womb scan whispered a verdict true,
Pink hope or a promise blue
Before our fingers learned to choose,
They filled our palms with borrowed views.
Soft dolls placed in softer hands,
Plastic kitchens and tiny pans.
To practice love, to understand,
To serve, to bend, to fit their plans.
For him, the wheels that roar and race,
Books that conquer time and space.
Guns that fire, blocks that rise,
Building futures loud and wise.
No lullabies to soothe his night,
No lessons, no teaching in sight.
This is where it all begins,
Not with bruises, not with sins.
But toys arranged in careful rows,
Like destinies no child yet knows.
“You are this,” they casually claim,
Before we even know our name.
“You will like this,” they decide,
Before desire can grow inside.
Blue runs forward, bold and fast,
Pink is taught to linger and be left past.
A girl learns tenderness before her strength,
A boy learns power at empathy’s expense.
Both inherit performances, to be defined,
Bound by rules they didn’t design.
Who declared that softness is she?
Who crowned courage as masculinity?
When did colours claim the right,
To dictate wrong and define right?
When did toys begin to preach,
Carrying laws within their reach?
What if hands were simply hands,
Reaching out, not bound by plans?
What if curiosity roamed free,
Untouched by gendered decree?
What if dreams had no dress code,
No single stereotype, no straight road.
Let children choose their own way,
Let wonder lead while rules stray.
Let dolls teach boys the art of care,
Let girls build worlds equal and fair.
Let kitchens turn to labs of thought,
Let minds reach beyond what they were taught.
Because inequality does not appear
As something stark or clear.
It enters gently without a sound,
In ribbons, roles and regulations unbound.
Gift-wrapped gently before our youth,
Dressed as love, disguised as truth.
And long before we learn to resist,
We are carefully taught how to exist.
How to shrink, how to submit,
How to quietly, perfectly fit.