The mansion is wide, long and high,
Its whiteness makes it a mammoth recess,
Where we are expected to live
In eternal comfort.
The little girl is frustrated.
She yearns for a change of air.
We sit together at a square table,
And look through the curtain,
She tells me about her friends’ boyfriends,
I warn her,
About how disgraceful it is to love,
to touch
And to be touched
‘It is the animal pleasure’
I tell her.
Thus the daytime
Wastes in our mansion.
The aunty gets angry
For every trite slip
Her body is wasted,
A mass of saggy muscles
She is both the mother and the father
Of the mansion
Who am i?
I am another woman in the feminine mansion
The emblem of purity,
The untouched petal,
A chaste Mary!
We pass our day and night.
Yearning for rain.
Constantly licking
Our parched lips
‘It is raining!’
One day she shouts.
Both of us run to the vast terrace garden,
Only to find it is only teasing,
With a drop or two.
‘It’s not going to rain
Let’s get indoors’
I tell her.
That night
When I’m lying alone on my single bed,
I hear the inviting rain,
But I choose to sleep on.
