She’s Not Just a Housewife

She’s Not Just a Housewife

You say 

She's just a housewife

As if that’s all,

As if the word doesn’t hold

a thousand quiet revolutions.

As if it doesn’t carry

the scent of morning tea,

the weight of sleepless nights,

the soft armor of patience.

But she–

she moves through time like it’s silk,

folding days into rhythm,

seasons into order.

She keeps the world turning

without ever asking for applause.

She doesn’t just live in the house –

she becomes it.

Each wall remembers her touch.

Each corner carries

her fingerprints of care.

Without her,

rooms are just space.

A house,

just bricks.

Love,

just a word.

She wakes before the sun

so she can hang it on the windows.

Measures silence in teaspoons.

Wraps routine in ritual.

She teaches the kind of lessons

no textbook dares to write:

how to give anger a soft landing,

how to turn hurt into forgiveness,

how to be fierce

without ever raising her voice.

No –

she’s not just a housewife.

She’s the keeper of warmth,

the unsung flame

that makes the whole damn place glow.

A lighthouse,

still burning

even when I lose my way.

She makes a house a home

with her breath,

her hands,

her laughter.

So say her name

with pride.

Because without

her,

I’m just a half-written story.

A dream

missing its ending.

~ Deepak Vohra