Your frail Hands
Your Shaky Voice
As you call out for attention one more time
Holding the same hands that never ever lay on me
As you call out for your loved ones
Deathly pale and equally weak
I wonder at your audacity
Pity and Compassion overwhelm me
And yet I wonder if things had been different
If you weren't a child bride
If your life hadn't been wasted producing male heirs
If your life hadn't been solely sacrificed at the altar of filiality
If you had loving parents
If you didn't have to marry your daughter's off
Would you have more empathy?
Would your hands ever stroke my head more gently than my brother's?
Would you forget my name and yet remember everyone else's?
Would my mother be any more of a daughter to you?
Would you have more compassion?
Would our relationship be any more of a possibility?
