Today I saw
a dignified shame
Hiding
behind my couch all stern
She smiled
and maintained a distance between
Her honour
was in being, a being of none
She thought
her silence
Was her gift
of love
She
respected, she mentored,
In her own
house, she served..
Her dreams
were many
But her
reach not too far
Never
showing disappointment
She kept
raising the bar ..
Day passed
to night,
Night passed
on to day,
Obstacles
were tackled
Routine
followed away
Still little
were her remains
Things she
could call her own
Her
sacrifices were too many
But who
would a listen show…
And then one
day suddenly
When they
asked her
‘What would
your longing be?’
She crept
beneath the carpet
That answer
she couldn’t see
She could
have wished she had a better home
With
garlands and posies and play
She could
have wished she had more time
To watch
their childhood not grow away
She could
have wished more time with dear husband
To rejoice
in the world they were building so neat
She could
have wished to have never left her mother
This path
was dreary, and without her being, incomplete..
But in that
moment when she really sat to think,
What she
could call her own
What
belonged to her soul within..
The answer
had been growing
Only with
age blinded away
And if today
was the time to speak
There was a
lot the heart had to say.
She would
like those treacherous years back please
With
precious solitude that had been in tow
She would
like back the respect for all done
And this
time it must show
She would
like to live again those days
In a way
befitting her life
She would
like to put aside all else
And go on,
on an identity flight.
She would
like to discover
What else
she could do,
Had it not
been for a perfect house on display
She would
like to know
What a timetable
could be
Outside the
tick-tock of someone else’ days
She would
like to know what was there to achieve
Had she not
cocooned in the inward shell
She would
like to see the life outside
Beyond four
walls and companions of dismay..
She would
like to free herself of the guilt
Of having
left behind those things undone,
She would
like herself a freedom to think
Outside the
unforgiving long daily rung
She would
like her mornings to begin
Only when
she was ready to start
She would
want respect along with love
For all the
happiness rested in your heart
She would
want someone to realize
how
difficult it was to breathe each day…
The
suffocation of being stuck in someone elses life…
To succumb
every day to an unknown prey..
But to much
of it she knows,
there isn’t
anyone else to play that part,
Having left
it to another,
This house,
this peace wouldn’t be at heart.
Whether duty
belongs here,
Or its in a
matter of pride to say,
Whatever be
the reason,
She has
nurtured well enough,
To know
these seeds will grow away.
That
satisfaction could do a lot
Had this
cross road not come her way,
Had somebody
not asked again,
‘What of
you, has become today?’
This is a
tale which is layered with several aspects of being in essence what a woman is
– a giver, a provider. Primarily on the grounds of what we have seen of our
first generation expat mothers experience in an unknown land where their
identity is reduced to being a mere caretaker. The travel from the innate giver
to becoming one of whom a submittance is expected, in the same breath losing
what they could call unique to themselves in a matrix of circumstances, need of
the hour and building a household. Somewhere this is the story of every mother,
every home- maker, every woman, who wishes to willingly let go off a bit of her
‘self’ to discover the joy in giving, not knowing when she runs into an endless
wheel of produce and is left with much little of her own to linger on.
