Chores or burden of idealism
Imposed within closed doors?
The cry of babies or the noise
Of wanna-be boys and men
That weighed her down?
Why is she hesitant when
Someone asks her name?
Who was she before she
Could be a mom or gran?
The magical mystery, who
Reeks of round rotis and
Balance of a perfect sambar.
Something loud-mouthed
Consumed the syllables of
Her last name.
Found only in her school
Certificate maybe.
But the paths to her school
Is erased. Childhood defaced,
And the backstory of how
She was before she turned
A Misses is fed to Wolves.
What remains now is an
Ageless face. Her wageless
Labour and hints of onions
In her expression..
Which doesn't go beyond
A couple of sulphated tears
In the kitchen.