Kitchen is a far better office. It has a greater life That awaits everyone of them. They, like befuddled moths, Keep flying to figure out Something splendid, And that would be A perfect cushion to lie on They think. Each utensil is a tap of joys. No care is taken of. Who would tell them Man is to mint money, Man is to shoulder family, Man is a horse, A camel,Β Β and he scales up the hill, Still no sigh. They elide his greatness. The moon can't do the work of the sun. They are trying to be the sun. In solitude their bones crack. A sense of not letting themselves Go down in the age of gender equality Pushes them out. They need to get Man is to chop the wood Woman to chop the carrot And understanding of this Is the fountain of What they are looking for The quest of mankind