The Fear

                        Of a Perfect Housewife...

One more dusk curtains

the usual demands of the day

The unending household hustles

that do not lead anywhere at all...

Countless yesterdays move before my eyes

flashing the same flashback motions

Teasing me to note the differences

like they do for kids in picture books.

I am there at the centre holding all

holding tight my nice husband

clutching the hands of cute children

tanking care of careful relatives,

A picture of perfection

posing the same pose day after day

busying myself in the busy world...

Kids atleast point out the difference

a changed colour here and a new touch there

But I know by my years of looking back

( which again remains unchanged at dusk)

that all colour is in reality no colour

and every new touch is a replica...

The more it changes the less it stays

 the new it appears the soon it fades

and everyday is like the other

a strangely familiar humdrum affair...

Yet I know I can live the day

For I am used to my pose by now

It is the passing of the dusk

that I am afraid of...

The calm, peace and the absence of pose

in the quiet  night

that I am afraid of...

For If I am left to myself

I  fear I may be tempted to ask

 ' Who am I ?'