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The author through this poem wholeheartedly expresses her feelings about being a mother, living within a golden cage and much more.
Nah. I’m a blundering mom.
Far from your images festooned with
crisply folded sarees
and crimson tainted hair partings.
Imperfect, fat mom. With puny kids.
But I make ends meet. End to end.
Oh, I have a life;
when the toddler is snoozing
And the older kid goes schooling.
In the wee bit of hours
that squeeze in between,
I cook, fold, clean, sip hot chai,
read, fret and wean, and muse out loud.
I’ve seen the Grandmom through this.
I’ve seen Mom do her bit.
As I run through the same golden cage
I wish my offsprings break it.
May the golden cage become history.
May the exaltation stop.
I’m stuck to a golden pedestal
that hampers my climb atop (the Maslow’s)
One day I’ll undo the fastenings
and show my kids how to fly
(and that I can fly)
and that I create beginnings-
apart from mock tests, food, havoc, stories, and sanctuary.
Earlier Published here.
Image Source – Unsplash
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