I was at my work place this late morning ( Yes I know its Sunday but life schedule of mine was to work ); crunching data for my client when I got this message.
Who is a woman?
When she is quiet, million of things are running through her mind.
When she stares at you, she may be wondering why she loved you so much in spite of being granted.
When she says I will stand by you she will stand do so like a solid rock.
And more to it which we all have read it many times......I did look up and bid her happiness for being one but most times she ignore me.
So back to us;the minions of the world. Have someone ever asked;
Who is a Man?
Well, let me tell you that.
Once we were considered the Bread Winner until they changed the home menu to Salads and Organic fruits.
We used to drive like the dedicated bus driver until they allowed the kids to do so while we sat at the back holding onto our last decade of life.
We used to man the doors into late nights but since the mother gave them the keys, they waltzed in while we are .....resting. Snoring is our bark that tells the outsider we are at home.
We used to cook but lately no one came home for dinner any more except weekends when they cleared the fridge of anything eatable.
We used to wash the laundry until the maid came into lived in the house. Now she collects the leftover coins dropped out of the jeans.
Life is tough for the Man but we get tougher. Hail us for the Man is here to stay. Thank you for listening and now I will go to clean the dishes before I disposed the garbage. It's not a bad task when the maid is there bending over the laundry machine reaching for the coins I left behind. I can tell the colors from there and its mostly peachy.
Cheers
Creative writing is more of a compulsion to engage with yourself in a world of words, ideas, imagery. There are moments of hot exultation or prickly exasperated yet victorious expostulation when at last comes the right word, the rhyme that works or can yield surprise and pleasure. Thank you for sharing my engagement into those words. .
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