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Naveen Malhotra Sep 2020
She is a maid
She takes care of  household
Is she a daughter?
No, don't be archaic
She is a domestic help
She is someone else's daughter
Poverty made her depart
From her parents so far away
Supporting her and her parents' life
She prepares and serves food
Cleans utensils and the floors
Washes and irons clothes
She is paid for all these
What's the great deal?
Have millions of dollars in coffers
Physical service your own won't offer
They can send you more dollars
Physical love and care
They don't have time
Who says God doesn't do miracles
Isn't it a miracle?
He bestowed millions with poverty
So that they care for you and serve you
Maid is one of them
Someone else's daughter
Can you imagine your own daughter in her position?
Prickling chill goes down the spine!
Treat your maid like your daughter
She is someone's daughter
Far away from her parents
Love and care for her
She would serve you better and better!
Betty Feb 2020
Maids see it all

But they  hardly ever tell

Well...

Occasionally one might sell

A juicy story

About you in naked glory

To add to your fame

And your shame

It's all part of the game

Who can blame

The person who buffs

And fluffs

Your stuff

On minimum wage

For making some cash

As you hit the front page!
Coraline Hatter Feb 2019
one day I found a ship
a wreck on the ground of the sea

within I found a chest
I decided to take it with me

it had a name written on it
letters I could barely see

as I found her
she looked at me

she was finally free
humming a melody

"my husband was a sailor,
he left me for the sea
and when he left he took my heart
but you returned it to me"
all those years he treasured her heart in that chest
and when he fell he took it with him
to the ground of the sea
Dee Oct 2018
I have visited the land of over the moon happy
Where my tears created silent rivers
Being an ethnic woman
The exotic figure of many dreams
Feels like popping the champagne
And having to clean up the mess afterwards
I am both the star and the maid at the same time
Terry Collett Apr 2018
George's father
stares at Polly.
"How is George?"
he asks eyeing
the young maid
who cares for his
shell-shocked son.

Polly studies the man
behind the desk
how his eyes
search her.

"He has moments of nerves
but I manage to calm him"
she replies
pushing from her mind
she and George
in bed the night before.

"I have received a letter
asking about him
from his regiment commander"
he says
"asking about his possible
return to the Front."

Polly's eyes betray a fear.
"He can't"
she says
"he's not well enough."

His eyes pierce her.
"It is not your opinion
he will be asking"
he says sitting forward
in his chair.

"If it wasn't for me
he'd be locked away
in some asylum".
Polly says
not thinking
as she speaks.

He looks at her.
"I know he thinks
you are his wife
but you are not"

Polly stands up straight
looking at him.
"But all the time
he does
I am"
she replies
seeing George
making love to her
twice in the night
behind her eyes.
Terry Collett Mar 2018
Polly watches the sun rise
into the room. She lies beside
George in his bed. It was
the only way to calm him
down last night. He thought
he saw snipers in the trees
over the way. He sleeps still.

Eyes shut and eyelids like
smooth shells. She didn't
think he would be able to
perform but he did. As if
nothing much had changed.

But he was not the same.
The War has blunted his
sense of humour. Twice
in the night. At one time
he shook the bed with the
nerves going off. She lies
still gazing at him there.

The thin dark moustache.
The lips still. What if he
had died? Shell shock is
a kind of death she muses.

Where to go from here?
He thinks she's his wife
and not the maid he used
to bed while on leave.

His parents are not happy
about her being with him
most of the time. But she
alone can calm him if he
loses his nerve and shouts
and screams and shakes.

She is supposed to sleep
next door in the adjoining
room but he wanted her
in his bed. It had been
nearly a year since he last
made love to her before
he went back to the trenches
and the Front. She can
sense him close to her.

She wants him inside her
again and again. She had
best get up in case someone
comes along and sees her
in his bed. She rises up and
goes to the adjoining room
to wash and dress and brush
her hair which is in a mess.
Terry Collett Mar 2018
You watched George
undress for bed,
made sure
he didn't slip
or fall with the shakes.

He had caused
a scene at dinner
and his mother asked you
to take him back
to his room.

He thought you his wife
and not the maid.

The shell shock
had disrupted
his thoughts and nerves.

He stood there naked
staring at the wall.

You picked up his pyjamas
and dressed him.

He was pliant
and stared at you.

Polly, what has
become of us?
he said.

He had tears
in his eyes.

We are safe,
George, you said.

His hands began
to shake again.

You held him close to you
sensing him shake and cry.

You didn't know
the sights and sounds
that haunted him;
what the War had done
was visible
before your eyes:
in his eyes
an old world died
and a world cursed by lies.
Pagan Paul Feb 2018
.
She walks the castle walls at night,
with a rose held fast in her fingers,
the mist rolls away across the land,
the memory of her lover still lingers.

Cold flagstones beneath her slippered feet
hold the histories of the aeons tight.
Old battles, wars, and terrifying sieges,
ghosts of ancient warriors wail in the night.

And still she clutches his parting gift,
she wears the bond burden of his ring,
his love weighs upon her broken heart,
tears flow free with a melancholic sting.

They fall upon the stones and disappear,
additions to the heavy tomes of history,
little gems writing sadness in a story,
as she stares into the distance so wistfully.



© Pagan Paul (10/02/18)
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