SuperMother

‘A Working Woman's Dilemma’

It's 8.30am
The maid has not arrived.
The breakfast is not ready,
And I have tiffins to fill.
The laundry heap increases,
The groceries need refill.
The elder one has homework,
The younger one's still sleeping.
There's no egg in the fridge,
The milk just spills over.
I have a conference today,
My blouse needs ironing.
There's a workshop in the school,
I don't know how to manage.
My mother in law is here
To ask medicines for backache.
A call from the bathroom
“I’ve forgotten the towel ”
The cat mews, the birds chirp,
The plants need watering.

The phone beeps
To remind me of a pleural tap.
The receptionist calls
Full appointments overall.
My shoulders aches
I have noone to tell.
My eyes are heavy
With last night's on call.
I don't remember the last time
I had been to the parlor.
My nails are brittle,
My hair needs a color.
My clothes have lost the sheen
I need a wardrobe makeover.
But before that I've to pick up
The toys that are scattered.
I think it was last year
When I spoke to my sister.
Can't recollect the moment
When I chatted with my mother.

I'm no feminist
I'm no atheist
I know not what I'm
More than a housekeeper,
a mother and a doctor.
I may be an orator,
A painter, an artist,
A singer, a poetess,
A traveller, a cyclist,
A writer, a musician,
A craftsman, philanthropist.
The last time I tried
To find out my ability
My child scored badly
And you know what followed exactly.
So next time she got a gold medal
They praised her father's genes
I remembered my trophies
Which no one had seen.
I know not what my daughter
Will do after growing up.
But I'm sure these responsibilities
Will never stop to follow her.

Marriages are made in heaven
Love is a fairly tale.
I'm sure every working woman
Has a different story to tell.
So, whenever you look
At a house that's tidy,
A child who is happy,
Intelligent and healthy,
Remember, it's the woman behind
Who sacrificed her sleep,
her degrees, her passion
her ambitions and needs.
Give her a pat, a word of praise,
a ear to listen, a helping hand
It's always a woman
who makes the house a home.
But it's everyone's duty
To make her  #supermother..

U make me feel 16

You’re the giddiness on a Saturday morning when I roll over and see the sun poking through the window. You’re the buzz in my head when it’s past curfew and I’m sipping on gas station Slurpee’s mixed with UV Blue.

You’re like high school to me.

You’re sweaty palms, anticipation for the last bell to ring.
I get dizzy just thinking about your name, writing little hearts around the edges of my notebooks.

We play high school games, like cat and mouse.
You text first, I wait. I text first, you don’t answer.

I get caught up in the rush of it all.

Your hands around my waist send shivers down my spine.
You ask to see me and it feels like sneaking out,
feels forbidden like I’m sixteen again, tip-toeing on the living room carpet.

You’re Friday night house parties down the block, driving in my daddy’s car with the windows down. You’re summer nights at the park with our tummies on the grass, prolonging every second until we have to return back home.

I’m no good at loving slowly, loving patiently,
loving like a mature, sophisticated adult.

I love like I’m fifteen.
like this is the only thing that matters,
like you’re the one thing I never want to lose.
I don’t.

You’re like freshman year, timid but blooming, or junior year, looking ahead.
The worry for what’s coming next, the anxiety, the ignorance.
The rebellion.

I want to be rebellious with you.
Drinks on the rooftops, cigarettes I promised I’d never smoke
passed between our lips.

When I think of love, I’ve never known it any other way.
No other way but all at once, everything. Abandon.

I like loving you like this. Like high school.
Like silly, like stolen sips of whiskey, like Saturday afternoons with the whole weekend ahead of us. I like knowing we’re each other’s everythings. That we’re booth too young and foolish to know any better. To know that love hurts like hell.

So let’s live in this moment, sixteen again.
House keys tucked in our pockets, bottles to our lips, my feet up on the dashboard as we’re racing down the highway