When I go to the market, to bring something,
My soul listens to a calling ring.
Often I stop at a shop of snacks or sweets,
And purchase some thing to listen to the tweets,
Of a beautiful bird who is free to sky,
But she does not fly, I don't know why?
And prefers the cage, as her lovely home,
With all her outrage, reading verses of a tome,
Not talking with me, watching TV all alone,
Either lying on the bed or busy on the phone,
She was never like this, but now she is sick,
Her BP often high, she is burning like a wick,
A patient of thyroids, her son is away,
Misbehaved by wife of her son every day,
Although I cook food for me and my wife,
Helpless she cries, after every-day-strife,
Not happy with me, being her spouse,
I couldn't give her a peaceful house,
And this house belongs to my son not me,
We cannot escape although we are free.
I worked honestly and worked too hard,
I haven't got yet my God's reward.
Leave it anyway, I purchase something,
For the bird many things I cannot bring,
When I give it to her, she smiles with her writ,
I was thinking of it but didn't tell it.
Akhtar Jawad
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/smile-of-a-defeated-woman/
