Back and forth, she goes in and out
On her back, she kept her child tight
Its head popping up ‘n’ down as she strides
In her ragged cloths, soaked in sweats
Dripping rain from beneath her head ties
Abused and reduced, she does the chores
Her sight obstructed by thick smoke
Struggling with firewood to start a fire
In a hurry to finish his favourite dish
While he sits on the seats on the porch
Encircled by children and the brethren
Alone to settle disputes now and then
She draws strength from her children
As they brighten her face quite often
In the rise of tensions and pain
Her efforts to please results in vain
He couldn’t just cease to see the torment
Of which origin he is the architect
Yet he parades around as a saint
Grinning ear to ear in portraits he paint
Sitting by the junction in the street
His gaze now and then stretched
Eyeing the ripe fruits dangling from trees
