We’re Mrs. Flower ,
We need to be perfect in society’s every gaze,
They expected fairness, charm and a beauty that sways,
But beneath all these facades, we have many burdens to bear,
Husband’s ignorance, Dowry’s cruel toll, a relentless snare.

We are Mrs. Selfless.
We lose ourselves in others life’s grand scheme,
Selflessness becomes our norm,
and Molding into roles like a cherished dream.

We are Mrs. Tortured,
In the shadow of in-laws, the monster hides.
Demands of dowry, only hatred it provides.
weak soul , anxious and tormented, still we stand ;
Forced to yield riches, relinquish our hand,
Treated like chattel, mere servants of chores,
Loveless alliances, where respect rarely soars.

We’re Mrs. Ignored.
Deprived of intimacy, husband’s love and devoid of desire,
Reduced to baby producing machines, our worth needs to acquire,
The essence is neglected, and Our spirits get confined,
Society made us Baby-making vessels, and our identities got maligned.

We’re Mrs. Old-school!
We love selflessly but Instagram trends aren’t our guide,
We adore ourselves but snap filters and virtual fads aside,
We don’t rush but we show love in ways that are peaceful and quietly reside,
We love with grace, passion and love’s symphony in tranquil stride.
With countless goals as a daughter, daughter in law, mother, sister and wife,
Balancing it all, considering them as the essence of life,
And being a WOMAN,
Juggling all the roles, even sometimes with strife.

We’re Mrs. Independent.
We hustle in our chores and in the job simultaneously to earn beyond compare,
And when we get our rewards, face society’s scorn, and its disapproving glare.
When our bank accounts surpass those of men,
Judgment , Abuse and discomfort soon creep in.
Some women like us, who shines more than the sun’s golden rays,
Trigger society’s discomfort, igniting judgment’s blaze.
Eclipsing tradition’s norms, we stride forth bold,
Yet resentment simmers, tales of insecurity untold.

We’re Mrs. Brave.
Society still doesn’t approve if women widows seek love anew,
Defying conventions, their hearts to themselves that they’re true.
In a world that whispers loudly, casting doubts and sheet of shame,
We women should rise bolder than society’s eyebrows, unburdened, and embracing a new flame.

We’re Mrs. Powerful.
A woman can be a single mother at forty, a dream she dares to chase,
Yearning for motherhood’s embrace, and life’s most wondrous grace.
But again , men’s eyebrows were raised, tongues cluck in disarray,
Yet she somehow persists, determined to find her own way.

But Are we Mrs dishonest?
Men tagged us Whore , if we celebrate ourselves and dares to draw a dream,
and if we divorce a narcissistic man, the shackles unshackled, from a narcissist’s scheme.
And when we dance to freedom’s rhythm, unburdened and free,
Reclaiming stolen fragments, rewriting destiny.

But someday in a symphony of voices, our truths will be proclaimed,
We’ll be breaking molds, rewriting stories, Our essence untamed.

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