A poem exploring the plight of a working mother. |
It’s bizarre, what I’m thinking right now. Offbeat, out-of-context, and rebellious. If I get off at the next station, I will be met with one option - to head home. If I head home, I would be returning to my mundane life, the life of a working mother. There would be dirty dishes in the sink, And vegetables in the fridge. And I’ll assume another role - of a mother, wife, and daughter-in-law. I don’t know when these thoughts emerged in my mind. But I can’t discard them now. Maybe they took hold of me at the office. Or maybe in the morning when I left for work. Maybe last night, When I was helping my son with his homework. I stare out of the window. I see the buildings passing by, the same buildings that accompanied me to work, for the past 7 years. If I skip the next station, I will have several possibilities. At least, I will break out of the loop. There comes the announcement. I should be getting up to leave. But somehow I don’t. The train stops, as if it has stopped just for me today. My legs have frozen. And I can’t move. The doors close and the train starts again. |