Just A Woman - By Svara Naidoo

Written By: Svara Naidoo

Category: Poetry

Competition: Global Poetry and Creative Writing Competition 2026

Presenting "Just A Woman," a powerful poetic contribution by Svara Naidoo. This work is part of Hashtag Kalakar's esteemed Global Poetry and Creative Writing Competition 2026. In "Just A Woman," Svara addresses the pressing issues of gender violence and societal apathy. Her poem is a compelling commentary on the often-overlooked tragedies endured by women. The narrative is set against the backdrop of Kempton Park, a poignant symbol within the piece, capturing the essence of the struggle and resilience of women in society.

About the Work

Svara Naidoo's "Just A Woman" is a deeply evocative piece, confronting the harsh realities faced by women in today's world. The poem's tone is assertive and urgent, exploring themes of violence, systemic injustice, and the enduring strength of women. Through vivid imagery and poignant language, Svara highlights the societal failings that perpetuate these tragedies. Her work calls for reflection and change, urging readers to recognize the inherent value and humanity of women.

Just A Woman written by Svara Naidoo

Original Submission by Svara Naidoo

Just a Woman.

Kempton Park.

Yet another headline that no one will do anything about.

Just another woman raped and killed

but don’t worry the government will fund another corruption spill;

another commission will sit and talk and talk still.

I mean, what are we meant to do.

Oh, that’s right, stay inside and never leave until the population declines

and the government decides to take away and demand our fertility rights.

So never mind, go outside but stay vigilant and quiet,

don’t speak to men but if you do ignore them,

they have a right to chastise

because their insecurity driven egos need to be patronized.

A mother is dead; did I mention that?

Her body another warning sign

and her name another statistic line.

And her eight-year-old daughter is probably next

because that is how the world works in these tragic series of events,

where a woman’s life is treated as a footnote in text.

But seven women ended up dead

but don’t panic, it’s nothing important.

Just the mothers and daughters and sisters

that keep the human race in existence.

The women that stretch and tear to make room in their wombs for life.

The parent of the generations that will continue the fight.

The roots from which flowers bloom,

while their own bodies are lowered into tombs.

No, absolutely nothing important,

just the hands that keep mouths fed

and nurture the tears children have wept.

That sew your clothes thread-by-thread.

Just a woman, the ones who made your bed

Just a woman, the ones lying dead.

So where are the great men?

The ones that publicly pride themselves on their ability to protect.

Where are the fathers when their daughters are being held and in need of defence?

Where are these men that promote their undeniable strength?

The ones we were told we need when we are desperate.

Are they the ones taking our breath?

Tell me,

how many women must end up dead by the hands of these very same men

that swore they were our greatest defence.

This nation is diseased and

the sickness spreads in all men as

they infect each other

and the girls that made the unfortunate mistake of existing.

We are incubators of their sin

and labourers of their sperm.

Every living thing has a mother,

And every mother births another woman’s killer.

The hands that once held a child to her breast

may raise the hands that put another woman to rest.

It is all women

and it is all men

that cause bleeding beneath a dress

and take away the sacredness and safeness of a bed.

It is all men

as their persistence has become cancer on our skin.

It is all men.

Who must answer for the silence they live in.

Kempton Park,

remember or have already forgot?

A grave, a warzone,

a cursed land or sacred ground,

a christened earth.

Where the dead are never truly found.

It won’t start floods or be swallowed up

or engulfed in fire.

No. But the grass will still overgrow,

and the streetlights still won’t work.

And women will fertilise the ground,

and flowers and food we will birth

to feed the men that bury our bones.

A field, a flower, a garden, everywhere we go.

Every city, shore and pavement where we broke.

We will leave behind reminders of our worth,

draped in blood and milk and insides of ourselves.

The earth will take what you did not deserve and free something beautiful, rising like a bird.

Our government

that spends millions on a vote

and kicking foreigners out that didn’t provoke

will do nothing about women massacred

by our very own.

Born on this land

to die in this dirt.

A nation that counts its money

but cannot count our worth

What a beautiful nation,

but don’t look beyond the motherland,

the cracks beneath the wood.

You’ll see the genocide of the misunderstood.

They misunderstood that women are human beings

not animals to execute.

I guess they mistook our naturalness for consent to be abused.

Avoid unnecessary activities.

As if bread can wait.

As if women can lock themselves indoors

and still feed the world from their plate.

The men who should be guarding our streets

tell us to abandon our selves.

Don't live too loudly.

Don't walk too far.

And if the danger wears a uniform,

who do we call then?

Do we protect ourselves from the men

who were meant to protect us from men?

Has no one realised,

a woman could end the earth

like Eve in the garden?

We could damn the world.

That as our bodies and breasts feed infants

that grow into murders.

We too, could turn into monsters that kill for sport.

As a cry to be free

from this system of patriarchy.

We are tired and angry, but somebody should be.

Seven women lost their lives,

and the world sees no importance in their sacrifice

but if they were men-

yes, the absent fathers,

the reckless providers,

the generational cursers

and the genetic disorders -

There would be wars and famine in the streets.

Blood would spill for a fallen man and governments would weep.

Nations would mourn.

The streets would remember

the place where the son was born.

But they were just mere women,

and the world will keep spinning and the men will keep killing.

and the mothers will keep praying

over the daughters they are raising.

So, bury us in Kempton Park.

Bury us beneath the overgrown grass.

Let the streetlights fail above us.

Let the seasons come and pass.

And when the next headline comes,

when another woman is gone,

remember:

we were never just women.

We were the hands that fed you,

the bodies that carried you,

the earth that raised you.

And every grave you dig for us is a debt you owe to the earth.

By Svara Naidoo

About the Competition

The Global Poetry and Creative Writing Competition 2026 by Hashtag Kalakar is a prestigious event celebrating diverse voices in literature. This competition invites poets and writers from around the world to share their unique perspectives and stories. It aims to foster creativity and inspire change through the power of words, providing a platform for artists to engage with critical social issues through their work.

We extend our heartfelt thanks to Svara Naidoo for her profound contribution, "Just A Woman," to the Global Poetry and Creative Writing Competition 2026. Her poignant reflection on the struggles faced by women worldwide resonates deeply and encourages vital conversations. We appreciate her courage and talent in addressing such significant themes through her poetry.

About Hashtag Kalakar

Hashtag Kalakar is a creative platform dedicated to providing artists, writers, singers and other creative talents with opportunities to showcase their work and reach wider audiences through competitions, features and creative initiatives.