Thursday, 22 March 2012

My father ...a guest author on my blog.


Nirja, here's a poem I wrote many years ago in praise of the Indian housewife.


We had never met before but when I
proposed, you consented to be mine.


We had to spend a lifetime together and you
knew me not but, you consented to take the
plunge. 


You were among strangers when I got
you home, yet you consented to hang on.
I could not arrange a honey moon for us, but you consented to remain home to share your personal space with us, the family.


My folks wanted me for themselves, they exluded you, yet you gladly consented to be part of us. 


You have no demands, no needs,
and have consented to be mine forever and
ever in this and many more lives - oh!
thank you my love, I'm so grateful.

In return I pray to God to choose you and
you alone always and every time in our after
life. I can only hope that you will consent
when he asks of you.  

2 comments:

  1. If this is in praise of the Indian housewife, then its really great.

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  2. Yes, this is in praise of the Indian housewife. The Indian housewife leaves her parents' home forever to be with her husband and in-laws making that her home.

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