At office
I read the book or the web site
When he is busy replying
His golf friends
Each time I hear his chair creaks
Lift my head
I close the book
Or minimize the site
Get back to the desk top
My gratitude to the glass wall
This reflects me all
That he does
From 8 to 6
Writing poetry
At home
One book by the bed
Another on the mat
Few more on the table
I return home around seven
‘I found seven ink pens
All over the house,
Under the bed,
In a book
Under the pillow
On the book shelf
on the dressing table,
and one in the car
no more pens for three months!’
he commands…
‘and this heap of papers, scribbled
Do you want them?
This house is a mess! ’
He sinks in to a chair
‘wait till the week end comes’
I say
‘I will arrange them,
I want them all’
Hours of thinking
Cutting and chopping
I will need my manuscripts
When I become a big poet
I do not dare
Voice my thoughts
I can go to
The poetry reading
If you have a shoot
next Friday
Like this, I do not take our time together
For my poetry, your all time complaint
I do not dare
Voice my thoughts
Mum said
‘you both can’t run your passions
In a marriage.
You will have to give up,
Eventually…
Better be now.’
‘Why me mum?’
Can’t believe I asked that stupid question
Knowing the answer
Because…because…
You are a woman.
She did not dare
Voice her thought.
