Sometimes

If I beg long enough,

Desperately enough,

Loudly enough,

Softly enough,

Prettily enough,

Sometimes if I knock on your door long enough,

Trying my best to convince you to open it,

You open it just a crack, enough to allow

me room to slip through.

The ten thousand things tug at me,

The hungry ghosts howl

and rattle their chains,

Gnash their teeth,

Whine,

Clutch,

Lay guilt trips on me…

Babies cry,

Responsibilities plead,

Clamor for importance.

They reason,

They moan,

They rage.

And I hover on the threshold:

A woman, after all!

I have thousands of children,

And so much dust.

So many details, such an outcry!

Someone is hungry,

Someone is angry,

Everyone needs something.

I am the Mother of the World.

But you beckon me, there on the threshold,

and guiltily, I slip through.

Someday

There will be no door

And no threshold,

And no one to consider what is most important. – Amidha Porter. M.A.