My spouse escorted me to a fix centre,
to mend my ways and make me better, (as she thought so)
she urged me to adhere to her rules,
and be the ideal husband without any fuss,
the mechanic scrutinized me from head to toe,
assuring, 'I'll set you right, no need to feel low',
he tuned up my brain and inspected my habits,
and pointed out that my ways were all too surreal.
he tightened my joints and aligned my spine,
saying, 'now you're ready to toe the line.
My partner seemed pleased with the outcome,
and remarked, 'now you'll listen, no more ho-hum'.
' I nodded and beamed, feeling rejuvenated,
as I complied with her wishes, feeling elated,
but then I realized, something was amiss,
I was still me, and she was remiss.
so I discarded the mechanic's notion,
and reverted to myself, without any commotion.
I love my wife, but I won't be controlled,
I'll be the best husband, but with my own mold.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem