My Bengali Wife Most Selfish Wife Poem by Bijay Kant Dubey

My Bengali wife
Most selfish wife,
So nervous, phobiac, chicken-hearted,
So selfish, India-famous,
So self-centred, small,
Small-minded and narrow,
Shallow and hollow from within,
Can never think of anywhere
But of there where she is.

From the window of the second floor
Sees she it all
Like a detective,
As I feel it,
Cannot step out of her cocoon room,
Lifts the blinds
And purviews the world
What happening it beneath.

Cut off from nature and her bounties,
Which she but canot enjoy it,
Lives a life of her own,
Artificial, mechanical and materialistic,
On junk foods and medicines,
Not keeping it well,
A sickkling, weakling she,
Very, very sentimental and emotional,
Just like a pond heron or a white stork
She living on fish
And eggs to her Western and vege white fruits.

Speaks she sweetly no doubt,
So histrionic and dramatic and thaeatrical
A persona,
Mixing molasses made from sugarcane or date juice,
But gives she coated bitter pills,
Tablets and capsules,
Using overtones and undertones,
Heckling and harassing
And ragging,
Taunting and twisting and turning
To present herslf.

She will wink at and say
As if she knew it not,
What happened to whom,
But in the know of all,
She can make you climb the palm tree
As for a juice taking
And may cut down too,
So falling you with the earthen bowl full of juice
And the palm leaves and the tree as well,
Tightening with nuts and bolts,
Screwing and unscrewing,
Jack-lifting and downming too.