Casket pretty
Hollow trunk of tree
Sacred room now just a museum for passers by
I still can smell you though,
Takes me back to a time when breath still lapped tongue
Bed placed and dressed as if you never left
Garlic press taking inches of my hearts
I recite your questions to myself, as if I was a hafiz
I guess you memorise the doings of a beloved
recreate them with your hands,
my hands now laying over your sheets,
head down weeping
This is not flying from nest
neither am I being thrown overboard
this was deem a benchmark for mohabbat, of worship
but just like the storm,
the lightening took you
Your body in van
They took you, washed your body,
The skies painted you in gold,
And they laid you down 6 foot under,
The ground a home for the ones you lost in this life,
not one but most of your children and your husband
So I guess it’s my time now,
even if I began with nothing,
its my time to feel your pain equated,
they say the prophets were orphans,
they fought a tough fight, with lack of love,
they too grieved
though I do not surmount to a millimetre of their worth,
It seems I must bleed the same blood
Breathe from the same breathe,
and feel the same loss of creation.
Ama would say people could die of heartbreak
The stories of Ishq would reach back to the times of Layla and Majnoon
Now who will ask whether I am in love?
I sing myself to sleep it seems,
putting salt on these wounds is cliche,
I cannot describe or put in words this feeling of empty in my chest,
its heavy like rocks, piercing but dull and ongoing,
Shackles may have been released
But now broken heart has been placed with scar so intrinsic in shape,
I wonder what will come to replace the horror.
*hafiz = a person who has memorised and recites the Quran
*mohabbat= love
*Ama = my grandma (name is mostly used for mother)
*Ishq= a different form of love, a higher state of love, ecstastic, madness