Being in kitchen everyday
Her husband will say that she is just a waste
She also thinks that she is a waste
As her day surrounds the kitchen walls
Because of her strange routine
She left her writing
For she knows, she will not be known as a poetess

But still she writes
Being in one corner of kitchen and pens
Although she is faint with work and fasting
Waiting for Jesus
She pens, thirsting for water, thirsting for writing

As this world she knows doesn’t offer her anything till now
And not going to offer her
She joined the brother of sleep to her lap
Silence engulfed
But she is still not known
Not going to known