Today,
they will tell us to celebrate women.

They will bring flowers,
write beautiful words,
raise glasses to mothers,
daughters,
sisters,
wives.

They will speak of our strength
as though strength
was something we asked for.

But I am thinking
of the women
who should have been here.

The woman
who never made it home.

The woman
who said,
“I’ll call you later,”
and never did.

The woman
whose children are still listening
for her key in the door.

The woman
whose last night
was spent beside the man
who promised to love her.

And the woman
who never got to tell anyone
what happened to her.

I am thinking of the bruises
hidden beneath long sleeves,
the accusations
that came before the apologies,
the doors slammed hard enough
to shake photographs from walls.

I am thinking of the nights
she whispered,
“Please don't,”
and someone decided
her 'no' was not a word
worth hearing.

I am thinking of the women
who were told to be careful
where they walked,
what they wore,
who they trusted,
how much they drank,
how loudly they laughed-
while no one taught the hands
that hurt them
to stop.

No one taught the mouths
that threatened them
to be silent.

No one taught the men
who called violence love
that a woman
is not something you own.

And when she died,
they called it a tragedy.

A domestic dispute.

A crime of passion.

As though passion
had ever needed
a weapon.

As though love
had ever needed
a fist.

As though her death
was something that simply happened
instead of something
someone chose.

So today,
I do not want your flowers.

Not yet.

Keep them
for the graves
that should never have existed.

Keep them
for the mothers
who still set an extra place
at the table.

Keep them
for the children
who know their mothers
only through photographs
and stories told
in voices that break halfway through.

Today,
I want us to remember their names.

I want us to remember
that they were more
than statistics.

They were someone's daughter.

Someone's sister.

Someone's best friend.

Someone's mother
who kissed a forehead
and promised to come back.

They had favourite songs.
Bad habits.
Inside jokes.
Dreams they never finished.

They had birthdays
they never reached.

They had lives
that belonged to them.

And someone took them.

So on this Women's Day,
while we celebrate the women
who are still standing,
let us speak softly
for those who cannot.

Let us carry their names
where silence carried their fear.

Let us teach our sons
that love does not hurt.

That jealousy is not devotion.

That possession is not protection.

That ‘No!’
is a complete sentence.

That a woman's body
is never a battlefield.

And let us teach our daughters
something more than survival.

Teach them they deserve
a life without fear.
A love without bruises.
A home without locked doors.
A voice that does not have
to tremble before it speaks.

Because these women
should not only be remembered
for how they died.

Remember how they lived.

Remember the light
they carried.
Remember the laughter.
Remember the dreams.
Remember that they were here.

And then-
do something
with the memory.

Because remembrance
without change
is only another way
of letting them die
again.