puresmiles

Born a maiden in a poor Indian farm, No human to admire you in the barn, They did not rejoice your birth, For you are not of any worth, Your tears and loud cry doesn’t turn any eye, A girl child would not bear even a pie. When you grow up daughter, You will work from dawn to dusk, None to pity like a poor cow in slaughter, A female is nothing but just a husk, Even the female calf that I raise, Daughter has more chase. When you blossom to be a maid, Men would flock hither thither for a trade, Pain and agony would never end, For a man is always man, would never fend, Morn to eve you work for him, To get at least one meal till the brim. Daughter, you have to bear male fruits, If not you will endure more pain, And curses on your roots, You live or die not much of a gain, For the world that we live in, Is merciless and dare even to sin. When you whither and shivering for needs, Neither your son nor husband would feed, For you will be an old weed, They would wish your death in speed, As you