She wears a signet ring of jade, formed in the womb of earth. Her lifetime is marked by monthly sacrifices that make her whole. Black or white, all of her kind have one thing in common — life nurturing — she is the woman.

The girl becomes a mother whose measure  is not weighed by how many humans have survived in her uterus, long enough to be born. Her worth, beyond rubies, is like an emerald circled throne. She may not feel fulfilled, but every smile she brings make her heart enlarge its boundaries. She is the weak shepherd the wolves do not underestimate.That mother is the woman. 

The married ones do not surpass the celibates in convents. Their grace lies not in rivalry or the scars and weight that comes after childbirth, but in possession and protection. They are women.

You meet the ones who work as maids and nannies, and you would think they have born a dozen. The woman and mother instincts are pairs. Both made at dawn of life.

In the armed forces, they are the merciful and stern mistresses of the east. You can meet a princess, but you should watch out for her double-edged sabre. She  too, a woman.

When they are nurses and doctors, the orphans on the streets can sleep well for a few more nights, far from sickness and diseases. As engineers, they pronunce durability.

Whether they sing or paint, or work or unemployed, women fill the world with the beautiful colours we see. They give smiles from broken cores held together by molten gold. They are the alters that restore life. 

In all lands, races and colours, she is one — life giving, life nurturing, life preserving — like the universe.

Today, on my birthday, I celebrate the models who have left their marks on the sand of time. The one, whose daghterI am.

 I salute the queens, most of whom were never crowned. Past and present, and those to come. 

To the one who moulds tomorrow from today. The goddess bound to give life, I greet you.

I am like you, a woman.

Happy International women's day.

Happy birthday to the daughter of a  woman.