Marriage: Not A Licence Poem by Aimanu B. Ali
Marriage: Not A Licence
You call it love
your tool of torture
upon my body,
on my soul.
The marriage,
it is not a licence
and I am not a car
you take out every night
for a joy-ride
breaking my already broken parts.
Oh, like your car
my exterior all sleek and glossy
to the admiring eyes.
My body shrieks silently for rest
after the daylong
tedious journey, carrying
loads of household chores
the stifled sounds of protests
the fight every night
behind the closed door
and mother-in-law's comment,
I will drive you out
to the arms of another woman.
You talk of yet
another licence, god given
to have three more.
For me then wait perhaps
neglect and oblivion.
Shall I have some time
to spend with myself
or is it time now
to make a decision?
But night after night
passes on, still no conclusion.
I am all entangled
in the web of tradition.
(((hug))) Marriage is a partnership, a blending of two souls, hearts and lives into one. Or so it was meant to be.
So well written. Such sadness and despair. To be tangled in the web of tradition must be hard.: O( 10/10
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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4/26/2024 8:22:02 PM # 1.0.0.1119
a heart rending painful howl... echoes across the frozen tundra, the waste land of a marriage gone sour due to uncaring insistence and threatening swagger. a ghoulish and hellish scenario.... has in it the seeds of eternal discord. Depicted vividly and painfully.... as close to the truth as words and lines allow, what to make of tradition and mores. a great social enigma, a girl is presented with these tattered cards.... so how does she play... a deeply distressing dilemma. heart felt and touching...nicely written,