Woman
Love is an illusion
That’s a hard fact
But an woman’s love
Even harder than that.
Man treats you
As a machine of produce
And you hardly protest against that;
Man hardly cares about you
Giving less facilities and freedom
Still you maintain his family.
You hide your tears with a smiling face
And never complain
For being treated as a
Physical object by man.
You nurtured me in my childhood
Still I scold you everyday,
You bless me every time
As your grandson,
Still I remain detached from you,
You love me as brother,
Still I ignore your presence,
And when I love you finally as lover,
You revenge back
By flirting with many men
Just to give me pain.
Woman, I hate you,
But, what surprises me-
More I hate you
More you spread love towards me
Like a source of infinite love;
Your relations are undefined, mysterious,
And you are, indeed,
Mother of all devine mysteries.
