Why do you encircle me with the
Iron chains of your words and cautions?
I’m not a child, mother
If not yet a woman.
I know the world is hard and sharp
I know the world can cut and hurt
But the world is colourful and bright
More so than you can understand.
Why do you treat me
As though I would not grow
Up without your helping hand?
I’m not a child if not yet a woman.
If you tell me I must do this
I must be that, I feel torn
Between what I am and what you want me to be
I never, you know, asked to be born.
Iron chains of your words and cautions?
I’m not a child, mother
If not yet a woman.
I know the world is hard and sharp
I know the world can cut and hurt
But the world is colourful and bright
More so than you can understand.
Why do you treat me
As though I would not grow
Up without your helping hand?
I’m not a child if not yet a woman.
If you tell me I must do this
I must be that, I feel torn
Between what I am and what you want me to be
I never, you know, asked to be born.
Copyright B Purkayastha 2009
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