The door has two buttons for bells,
I had to click both to note my presence,
And I wait; still waiting but to no avail.
Next day, similar time I ring the bells,
Lights on, footsteps nearby, door opens,
And I enter yaddo’s house.
I saw her sitting on the sofa facing Makkah,
Moving her fragile scarred ancient body,
Yet, still wise and grateful to her Creator,
Prostrating to Him, thanking patiently,
And I am standing as if a bodyguard,
On duty, waiting for further orders,
Then she finishes saying peace to the Angels,
She scans the living room,
Eyes slowly grabbing my figure,
Her smiles start to invade her face,
I kiss her hands and forehead, and cheeks, too,
She grabs my chin: “oh my cute son”,
Still a three-year-old to her gorgeous eyes!
And a three-year-old I want to be,
In her arms, once again, spoiled and tickled,
I ask about her health and her arms,
With all the pain she is having
“Thanks to Allah”.
Tuesday, 11thof December 2012