Strength

Strength, is not some magic potion that one suddenly acquires,

It is not a raging fire,

 

That suddenly spreads and combusts,

It most definitely is not a wind gust,

 

Which fleetingly comes and goes either,

No, strength is in choosing a man and standing by him relentlessly, without a breather,

 

Strength is in having the ability to feed my child,

With my husband’s dead body styled,

 

Under bed sheets, that we as a family of three, slept on,

Until the crack of dawn,

                        

 

Strength is in crying and screaming it all out,

Without a shred of doubt,

 

That I’ve lost the most important man of my life,

The one who made me a wife,

 

Strength, is in knowing that the child and I are all alone,

Husbandless and fatherless, our broken hearts and scars can never be sewn,

 

So, don’t preach about strength,

To my 3 year old child or me at foolish length,

 

For, we’ve lived in a fatherless and husbandless house,

Long enough, without any grouse,

 

When the man was alive, we hardly saw his face,

With him dead, we most certainly know how to stand tall and fight the rat race,

 

We are made of unbreakable stones,

My son and I, we know very well how to ignite fires and put them out, perhaps better than the Flintstones.