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January 15th, 2026
by Mariam Cele
In streets once filled with laughter, now echo with pain, A generation lost – marked by violence's stain. Young girls with dreams, their futures bright, Snatched in silence, stolen in night. Their voices silenced by brutal hands, Their light extinguished like fading sands. Mothers wail, their hearts torn wide, Fathers weep with rage they cannot hide. When you strike a woman, you strike a rock – Wathint' Abafazi, Wathint' Imbokodo. Their spirits rise where bodies fall, Unheard no more – they heed the call. Femicide reigns, a monster in disguise, Justice sleeps while impunity thrives. Violence against women is the world's most pervasive human rights violation. Still, the system shrugs at indignation. In darkened rooms, on crowded streets, Violence whispers where life should meet. From cradles to corners of public space, Fear wears too many a woman's face. Not all scars show, not all wounds bleed – But all pain matters. Yet silence grows where healing should lead. The trauma lingers – a ghost, a chain, In every daughter's inherited pain. The cries of yesterday echo still, A plea for justice, a test of will. But still – we rise. We shout. We stand. Together, demanding a safer land. There is no excuse for abuse – only action can end it. We claim our rights, reclaim our spirit. We speak their names, light candles in the rain, Honor their stories, and share their pain. No more whispers in the shadows of night – We march for peace, for safety, for light. We hold the line, we shout with pride: Wathint' Abafazi, Wathint' Imbokodo – they cannot hide. Still the silence grows thicker than mist, While the cries of the fallen persist. In dark alleys, behind closed doors, In offices, churches, on market floors – Violence strikes without regard or shame, And too often, the world forgets their names. The trauma lingers, silent and deep, Wounds unseen that never sleep. A haunting ghost, a stolen peace, Grief that stretches and will not cease. There is no excuse for abuse. None. Ever. Let this vow be unbroken forever. The pain of one becomes the cry of all – A burden too great, yet we must not fall. But still – we rise, we gather, we shout, We drown the silence with courage and doubt. We demand a world where justice stands tall, Where no one fears to simply walk down the hall. We call for rights, for safety, for truth, For protection for every woman, every youth. The rights of women are not gifts – they are owed. Let no more blood be payment for roads never strode. We light candles for those stolen too soon, We whisper their names to the wind and the moon. Their memories fuel us, their spirits ignite – A revolution born from deep, sacred fight. In every protest, in every cry, In every tear that refuses to dry – Their voices live on in every chord: Wathint' Abafazi, Wathint' Imbokodo We are the storm, the voice, the drum, The fire that says: No more. The time has come. The heartbeat of change in every form. We rise for justice, we rise for peace – And we will not stop until all violence cease. Note: Wathint' Abafazi, Wathint' Imbokodo – Xhosa phrase meaning, "When you strike a woman, you strike a rock."
About the Poet
Mariam Cele resides in Durban, KwaZulu-Natal, South Africa.
Read the poet's biography and Young Poets World publications
on Mariam Cele's Artist Page.
Young Poets Collection
This poem is also featured in
Young Poets Collection #1,
published in the Young Poets World Library.
Keywords: women's rights, justice, girls' rights
Previously published in Young Poets 13 to 15:
The Last Scrape
by Matthew Jung
Young Poets 13 to 15 is part of Young Poets World and waxpoetryart.com.
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