In the dark dusty quarter
She's about to surrender
Eight hours seems like forever
Praying that she can carry it further.
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Do this, do that, and everything
As if she's a robot not hurting
Can't blab that after all, it's tiring
'coz they pay her to do everything.
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Her life is indeed in deep shit
She washed your tainted sheets
Cleaned up your mess
Yet you treated her less.
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Striped with all her pride
Broom and mop on her side
By her own, she can't decide
On their mandates, she politely abide.
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Hands are as rough as unpainted wall
Bags hanging on her eyes are ready fall
Sweat continuously fall
She'll stand, on one call.
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She hate it when you utter command
Do you have an amputated hand?
You can't do it for yourself
Even your own food you want to spoon-feed.
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A lady wearing an old and rancid apron
Looking at her own reflection,
For her family, she can carry it on
With her decreasing strength as her weapon.
YOU ARE READING
UNHEARD SCREAM
Poetry"Too many things that were better left unsaid, that had to be left unsaid." I am tired of all the lies and betrayal. And of broken promises that were never meant to be fulfilled. But amidst all those uneasiness, I keep on writing my thoughts to less...
