Dusting through trophies that shine for others,
She wonders — where do I stand?
Nothing bears her name.
Because she is just a housewife.

With the first light of dawn, her day begins —
Not for herself, but for all.
Breakfast, lunches, uniforms,
And chaos echoes through the walls.
She makes the impossible possible —
Finding missing shoes, filling bottles, polishing dreams.

Her wings remain clipped,
While she teaches others to soar.
No schedule. No break. No end.
Because she is just a housewife.

If she’s lucky, there’s help.
If not, there’s no pause —
Dishes, laundry, dusting, cooking —
Repeat. Every. Single. Day.

She is the one who makes a house a home,
Who stays awake when others rest?
The cook, the nurse, the comforter, the quiet strength.
The reason every uniform is pressed, every meal balanced.
Yet, she remains invisible — no paycheck, no applause.

All of this, we summarize in one word: Housewife.
Then, we dress it up — Homemaker.
Still, the meaning remains the same.
And when she finally dreams for herself,
The world asks, “What did you do all these years?”
She smiles —
“Yes, sir, I was just a housewife.”