A Home of my Own

An intense poem about the many trials and tribulations of an Indian woman, by Meenakshi, for Different Truths.

I have been a cuckoo bird in past,

Raising, egging my being in other’s nests,

Always in search of a home of my own,

Where this life could blossom,

Well, I am an Indian woman,

I have also been a caged bird,

My cage is made of those metals,

Metal of my ancestral honour,

The metal which has to get malleable with men,

Well, I am an Indian woman,

Battling thunder storms, I survived,

Facing the threat to my existence,

Or even arrival as if this planet is meant for only one body type,

I stood up, mopped away the dirt and their chauvinism,

Erected walls of courage and talent,

But missed a roof, a cosy home,

I wanted an abode,

Where I don’t need to make the bed,

Yet I could have a slumber, forever,

An abode of celebration, of my existence, just as is,

I wanted a Home,

An abode as permanent as a broken heart,

A cottage as temporary as the lover’s embrace,

A place, a palace of my own,

Well, I am an Indian woman.

©Meenakshi M. Singh

Photos from the Internet

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