Where is me?

The gentlest touch of the morning breeze
Rolls over my face,
Awakening the soul within.
For a brief moment, I embrace the soft glow of the sun,
A blanket of pixie dust that reminds me
How the divine simply cannot be overshadowed
By the mundane.

As little hands pull at my shirt,
Eagerly pointing to the door,
My revere is broken.
There is much to be done and more to be explored,
The brain racing before the heart.
Lists, todos, tight schedules;
There is no dearth of responsibilities.

Running from task to task,
I lose myself in the minutiae of the daily chores.
There is utter joy in watching the children,
But a restlessness in caring for them.
There is creativity in crafting the new deal,
But frustration with the repetitions.
There is pride in multi-tasking,
But impatience with the interruptions.
There is love in my heart,
But indignation in my reasoning.

Inner conflicts colliding throughout the day,
A tiresome fight of mind and matter.

The evening ends with repeated requests for bedtime,
Indifference and downright denials as responses.
After much cajoling, the last battle cry has been sung,
And all is finally quiet.
There is but a moment to reflect,
Before the label changes from mother, career woman, daughter, friend,
To wife.

Much as the warmth of the loving caress is welcome,
And the banality of the day's last conversation,
A habitual and cursory connection, 
I cannot help but think of how
The self has gotten lost,
The morning's blissful promise
Melting into an inky night
That will be filled with a deep slumber,
With no dreams.

Perhaps, tomorrow, I will remind myself that
To take a moment to breathe,
And touch my soul with a tenuous fingertip,
Is a responsibility to me.

Perhaps.

-Maheen (c) 2016

"The Woman": Maheen (c) 2016