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.