Dreams To Die For
Dreams To Die For1 min 15.1K 1 min 15.1K
Looking across through the window
More than three thousand kilometres away,
I envisage the feeling;
The feeling of pinning for the past.
I saw the women of all ages,
Gathered in the five-hundred-year old market,
Perhaps the biggest market
Only for women in the country.
The evocation brought me
In middle of the market,
O! Mother! The creases on your face
Told hundreds of stories,
To keep the fire alive in the kitchen,
To render your husband's liquor,
To send your kids to school,
Wearing a shabby Phanek and Innaphi,
No one can say you are doing less than
The well-dressed delegates.
O! Mother! How the weight of burden made you stoop so low!
No personal life,
But one thing keeps you wary
All your life,
Those brutal mongrels will come,
A lathi in their hand,
Thrashing all your vegetables.
O! Mother! Your wages to make
For the day has now gone,
You are crying in a corner,
How will you keep the kitchen alive tonight?
How will you take the beatings from your husband tonight?
How will you bear the protest of your children from starvation tonight?
You wake up every morning
With a dream
To make an earning for the day.