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Born As A Woman


Loathe being born as a woman,

As have to serve yeomen,

First to  obey the parents,

Second to  go behind the husband,

Third look after the children,

Best of all to  appease the society.

 

 

A woman is compared to a flower,

Soft, delicate and tender,

As a rough handle destroys the flower,

So a tough stand shatters the woman.

While  the flower loses its beauty,

The woman’s grace  vanishes mostly.

 

 

 

While her patience is misunderstood,

Her  sincerity is exploited,

As her slogging is made use of,

Her cry for recognition,

Is not taken care of.

Leaving her at man’s mercy.

 

 

She toils day in and day out,

Un mindful of her health,

Never paying attention to her welfare,

Always putting her family first ,

By stooping to low ebbs,

Granting a happy picture perfect.

 

 

Confined by limitations,

As she is from the weaker sex,

Restricted by the filial ties,

As she is governed by the family,

She untiringly goes about,

Thinking of nothing great.

 

 

Later her body crumbles due  to age,

Her legs wobble under pressure,

The hands present an awkward move,

While her face acquires a gaunt,

She  staggers along the way,

Awaiting the call of the day.