Wife Poem by mohanan viswambharan Nair

The wife is not a silly matter.
She is a matter of emphasis.
A guard at the threshold of life.
A lock on the gate of evil.
She is not a slave,
not a whore in the bedroom.
Not a machine to breed more of
your children and not a waiter
with a cup of coffee at your bedside.
Having drunk toddy, walked around the hut and
crawled into it in the evening for beating her,
she is not a drum.
She is a being, a companion.
Oh, Poor friend, What for then?
Did you need it to know in advance?
Isn't it interesting now to sit on the veranda,
and to scratch the scabs?