Poems by Prachi Kholia

Prachi Kholia is a Lucknow based writer with a curiosity for everything ranging from Science-Fiction to Ancient History and a passionate love for reading; she is obsessed with the stars and the emptiness they reside in, often trying to weave stories through her poems. Her works have previously been published or is forthcoming in literary publications like Rhetorica Quarterly, The Chamber Magazine and Dreich Magazine. 


She doesn’t exist


The woman is grateful,
That the man is great.
There are great mothers
And there are grand mothers 
But a woman isn’t great;
A man is great.
A sister is a woman,
A wife is a woman too,
But only the mother is great

And the man is great.
A woman however is just a woman 
Nothing grand, not so great
Her only path to greatness in life
Is to be a mother:
Because mothers are grand,
Mothers are great.

This choice of deprivation 
Of a choice itself;
Of her body, of her being, 
Of an identity as well,
And the fact that 
Mothers don’t have a name.

They are grand mothers 
And great mothers 
But a woman doesn’t exist.
She doesn’t exist.
It’s as if a ‘she’, 
Does not exist. 

Mi casa

Old Sunday mornings and tea
Light sunny skies and positivity;
Those caramel honey eyes, so pretty.
On your mug painted birds and trees 
And mine as dark as my soul it seems. 
Mi casa es mimmi 
For me home means you.
Nobody matters to me, nobody but you
They say love is pain, yes it's true
And I wouldn't do it, for anyone but you.
Mi casa es mimmi 
My home is you.

Mi casa es mimmi 
Home means you.

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