Accoutred in smart formals,
I strode into my cabin, all magnificent,
Pride permeating, betraying every nucleus,
Beautiful, slender and lithe,
How was I to ever know,
That this superwoman thing is a true-blue myth?
The home, over time, evoked a dreary ennui,
While wrangling frontline, in the arena of fealties,
With the elementary pleasures maturing into discontent,
The self-worth slowly disintegrating into extinction,
And vainglory, for an ever-loyal companion, how was I to ever know,
That the crown of superwoman is evanescent?
Until, one day, I could see some scars on my soul,
And feel some droplets of devastation roll,
Vanity, the bitch, had dreadfully overtaken wisdom,
And got me shrunk and clinging, to a quiddity of humdrum,
It’s then, I discerned, this arch enemy of dignity,
Those who are full of themselves, are naught but empty,
That’s when, I decided, to open my own doors,
Get down, do some soul-searching and scrub my own floors.
Purposefully, I flung off the superwoman cape, quietened the uproar,
Today that iconic headliner is a long-gone lore.