Is it me?

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The sounds of the hospital where many a baby cry,
Sat the recently wed man and his lovely bride shy,
Soon to be parents, no bounds to their joy,
Mother watching me, on the screen enjoy,
He wanted a boy, alas, he could only abide by,
From him an unhappy gasp, from her a contented sigh
Her fingers on the ultrasound, “Beautiful, isn’t she?”
I wonder, is he the one miserable, or maybe, is it me?

Brother plays with a plane, I ask to share,
Turning a deaf ear to me, he takes it to the air,
Sobbing I run to Father, he asks ‘Why do you care..
Why don’t you play with Barbie and braid her hair’,
Mother stands afar, gazing mutely somewhere,
I dream, wish and pray for once, that life be fair,
Even at this tender age, as I am all of three,
I wonder, is he the one unjust, or maybe, is it me?

‘Mother, I want to be a pilot’, I happily announced
‘Did I hear you right or you just mispronounced’,
Father slapped me hard and all but pounced
‘You’ll do as I say or I’ll have you renounced,
How could you even think you could have denounced’,
Brother jumped into the fray, and I was severely trounced,
‘You will have to marry, how dare you disagree’, says he,
I wonder, is he the one unreasonable, or maybe, is it me?

Armed with dreams of love and understanding,
I marry into a family of Father’s choosing,
Wondering if its an end or a new beginning,
I see the continuance of my old self, always abiding
A whole new generation, yet behavior unchanging
He too wants a son, his attitude ever demanding
‘Girls and dogs not allowed’ sounds like his decree,
I wonder, is he the one overpowering, or maybe, is it me?

The sounds of the hospital where many a baby cry,
I shoot looks of despair at my husband, the bad guy,
Conspiring with the doctor, as I meet his eye
‘I told you, if a girl, you’ll have to bid goodbye’
Teardrops run down my cheeks, I choke and wish to die
From me an unhappy gasp, from him a contented sigh
With the passing of time, no longer exists she,
I wonder, is the whole world heartless, or maybe, is it me?


Note: On Mother’s Day, this is my first feeble attempt at fictional poetry – because every mother is born a girl. Written in response to a writeup suggestion on the topic “Is it me?” by a fellow blogger BK at WriteupCafe.com and in support of Save a Girl Child. I would love to wish all mothers a very happy Mother’s Day except – every day is your day. Love you Mom!


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