A Woman's Song

Busy busy busy busy not a moment to spare
Legs aching breath hurting
From running up and down the stairs
There's no end to household chores
Errands to run
Deadlines to meet
Clean the bathrooms
The ceiling fans
Dust and polish
When you can
And do the ironing
Chop the beans
Cook three course meals
And then start to clean
Then clean and dry the cleaning mops
Lady you run around spinning like a top
Speed is priority perfection is not
A woman's labor is round the clock
Yet not monetized simply because
She works for her own
So it's a sin to weigh profit and loss
The inability to claim an idle hour
To dream of loving in flowery bowers
To write one's heart while grinding meat
Kneading dough on swelling feet
And my tears can only make me weak
A subject of shameful mockery
If I say I deserve more than this
Get out and seek a job
Do as you please
For you're not my own
My kith and kin
The bloodlines unbroken run
In patriarchal veins
I laugh and do just as I please
Fall in love again with ease
And then Demons wrath aroused
The claim must be made
Woman must be owned
Spoken for and said
You are not yours to Be,
You must belong
A possession of
One whose heart
Lost his woman's song.

(c) Amrita Valan 2015