Women, of neønymus

From where I am,
on the threshold of my existence,
I look back and feel thousands of women,
foremothers mine,
who had to give birth to a daughter or a son,
fruit of her womb,
so that I can be now.

A fragile chain of strong women
that they laughed at,
they cried,
they loved,
they sung,
they shouted out,
they dreamed of,
they vivid.

To them,
and you,
my humble song.

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Small sketch of the musical piece "Women".