The Housewife

An unearthly five a.m. buzzes

Exhausted, but eager, she rises

Toys and the TV remote adorn the floor

She picks and preens till the sun begins to soar

A quick brush here, a small shower there

She chops teary onions with potatoes to pare

A half hour later when the kitchen’s chores are done

With kisses and caresses, she wakes her little son

She bathes, scrubs and dresses her baby with adulation

Feeds him, packs his lunch and sees him to the bus station

Her once gentle and silky hands, launder the pile of dirty clothes

In all this rush, her kindness intact, she feeds some grains to the crows

At 8:30, with the rising heat, she watches her lordly husband rise

No greetings or hugs, he gulps his coffee and eats his curry and rice

He bickers and complains about her laxity and nitpicks her culinary skills

She knows he loved the meal nevertheless, when he burps as his belly fills

While he rushes to the office, she hovers near him, for his small or big commands

She finds his sock, polishes his shoes, irons his shirt even without his demands

Scolding and cursing, he leaves for office, driving away in his car

She heaves a sigh of relief at last, and waves to him till he’s far

It is but for a brief moment, that she recalls her own, once flourishing career

She had quit without complaint, on her husband’s order, as her family she held very dear

With the chores all done, she eats the leftovers and allows herself a small nap

It seems like just a few minutes have passed, when she hears her front door rap

Newspaper man, vegetable vendor and the neighbour start pouring in

Worn and tired, she handles it all; she slogs till her head takes a spin

It’s late afternoon when she picks up her child and carries him all the way home

Then she heads to the market, buys the groceries and her husband’s shaving foam

Back home at last, without a moment’s rest, she goes off to help her little one

His homework aplenty, they finish together, his bags are all packed and done

It’s 8:30 p.m. and she’s back at the kitchen, cooking the family’s supper

Her husband walks in, flops on the sofa, with his work pressure he goes hyper

She takes it in all, like an obedient wife, while her family eats their dinner plentiful

She eats at last, what is left, clears the dining table, scrubs the dishes in the sink full

She reads to her baby till his soft snores resound like a melody in her tired ears

She bathes and changes, and her husband beckons, at night she to him endears

Weak but yielding, she submits herself to his throes of passion

He moves back and dozes off, after he spends all his carnal possession

Her body is worn, her mind all sleepy but only tears come to her eyes

She’s unaware when she slept off, it’s 5 a.m. now, yet again she has to rise

One may think how and why, one chooses to inspire, one’s poetry with a mere housewife

Seldom we know, never we acknowledge, her numerous battles throughout her strife

How one gentle person can put up with so much, and stay strong, living at the tip of a knife

Because she’s a woman, a mother, a wife, a daughter and more, this is how stirring is her life