The House Breathes Through Her

Her mornings begin before alarms, knowing routine more than rest,
While the world yawns and stretches, she’s done tons of tasks at her best!
It’s her muscle memory- turning daily chores into quiet poetry,
Maintaining a perfect balance, of heart, rhythm and symmetry!

Clinking utensils, washing clothes and kneading doughs,
Packing tiffins with care, handling each work – her face glows.
Balancing the phone between her shoulder and ear,
Chitchatting with her mum, her smile is sincere.

Dupatta adjusted, the repeated fixing of hair,
Covering the everyday work, getting ‘me-time’ is rare.
She looks after everyone, often forgetting her own identity,
‘It’s normal for a typical middle-class woman’- is what the world’s mentality.

Also Read: Echoes of Love

Managing the household, and even working to support finances,
Yet her contribution is ignored, perturbed over vague stances.
Her sleep is often in fragments, her Sundays just like rest of week,
Postponing her dreams, sacrificing always, choosing silence over speech!

The house moves because she does, all depending on her continuous effort,
Her ever-lyrical fingers, turning others’ lives into absolute comfort!
The work she does, is unnoticed, unpraised, yet so profound,
In her gentle, serene smile, the pulse of life is found!