The Maid

Echoes of
Sometimes in this house,
Sometimes in another—
A life bound by duties and care.
Those who once brought me here,
Promising food and shelter,
Have raised their hands now—
Surrendered,
Leaving me to bear
The half of a man’s burden
That a woman carries still.

All day I stay in someone’s home,
Sometimes I just come and go—
A few understand my plight
And pay me what I deserve;
But others set their cruel terms,
As though I were a purchased good
Meant for use, for pleasure.
So much pain,
So much fire within—
Whom shall I tell?
Who will judge?
Those who are “great,”
Whom I call Dada! Dada! every day,
They will decide, of course—
For hypocrisy spreads
Like a contagious disease.

My husband spits, “You sell your body—
That’s why you suffer so!”
How can I make him see?
If he worked today,
Perhaps such misery
Would never have been ours.

Some call me by name,
Some call me Boudi,
Some Masima with love.
My heart swells with affection—
I forget I’m a servant.
A few have embraced me truly,
As though I were family.

Wasn’t it this picture I once drew
In my girlhood dreams—
Of love, of belonging?
But life showed me
The inverted image.
Not for my husband’s face,
But for my child’s,
I remain in this household—
An inseparable part of it.

I do not lament,
I ignore,
I live—
Just as the world
Goes on living.

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