Joyful he's, she radiates.
Wounded he's, she writhes in pain.
Troubled he's, she finds peace for him.
Sorrowful he's, she cries her heart out.
His grief she bears.
His loneliness she chases.
His happiness is hers.
Her rare moments of joy, he dismisses.
Her oceanic tears, he discards.
Her wounds find no healer in him.
Her worries go unattended ever.
Reciprocation has forever been a mirage.
Till death, she's born to live alone.
Sounds very much like the plight of so many Indian women trapped in a loveless marriage...it could also be the plight of Indian mothers - so wrapped in their selves that they lose all sense of self, identity....Well expressed
ReplyDeleteThanks, Rachel!
ReplyDeleteIn this poem you have exposed the realities of present life of many voiceless women.
ReplyDeletesome lines are pained me owing to the helpless conditions.
"His happiness is hers."> what she gained from him...
"Her wounds find no healer in him.">If so, then what is the meaning of life...No..No..
"Till death, she's born to live alone.". we born only once..We live only once..If we miss the train we will not going to get the another train....
Why such a mentalities so many men having against his own soul?
I have no strength to go further Ma...R.Vimala vidya