Paying Slave

Every night she wonders
How the moon tastes
What a waste of imagination
No it was not
At least that day
Because she had nothing to eat
That night
She fed her children
And that was it
She didn’t want to sleep
She feared bad dreams
They say, empty stomach leads to bad dreams
The scars on her skin
Couldn’t adorn her
She wished the stars could decorate her
The same way as they decorate the sky
She wanted her husband to be a fighter
And here he was, fighting with her every night
Kicking and punching her
Getting stuck with
A useless drunkard
How smart was that?
But here she was
Being such smart
She could set herself free
Only if she knew
She was a slave
Slaving for free, I had heard of
Slaving and paying for it
Isn’t it surprising.

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About neetuwali

Hi! I am Neetu. Who am I? This question is very difficult to answer. Well! If you insist, let me reveal. I am a human and like every other human I eat, sleep, drink, dance, sing, laugh, smile, cry and so on. Hang on! There is a difference. Unlike most of the human beings, I breathe and when I breathe, I relax. When I am relaxed, I draw. I draw sketches of me in words. I have been orbiting around sun for forty years now. I started this journey on the Valentine day of 1974. I have seen people craving for heaven and I was born in the only heaven on earth (Kashmir). My Grandfather was a spiritual personality and a renowned poet of his time. Though he left me around 35 years ago, I couldn’t let him go. I carry him in my eyes and mind and will do that till the end of my life. I hate words, yet I am full of words. I know words cannot express, yet I express me through words, because they are the only medium I am familiar with. That is why I try to express me as much as possible with as minimum words as possible. When I did Masters in business administration, I never knew, writing will be the only business in my life. More than hobby writing is a necessity for me, because it helps me get the load of thoughts off my head. I don’t remember when it that I wrote my first poem was. But I surely know the time of my last poem. Surely,not before my last breath.

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