A week ago, I wrote When Family Becomes A Distant Memory. Khawaja Musadiq, a wonderful wonderful poet turned it into a poem, thousand times more beautiful. Although he doesn’t know the context and details I wrote the blog post in, nonetheless he wrote so beautifully.
surviving on a bleak glimmer of h o p e ,
tormented by l o n e l i n e s s
the grandmother is kept awake
with no one to hold down her fears.
a village all forgotten,
where the recently harvested wheat fields
or the dauntless cemented roads,
didn’t make one bit difference to us–
young afficianados of cricket.
my grandmother, a woman–
possessing iron steel c o u r a g e
married off at 16 as a young sapling,
widowed at 35.
barely eating, living in desolution
hoping to see her young ones
lead a better life. but
never to be subjected to a b a n d o n m e n t.
yet she remains to be the epitome of,
exceptional countenance and inspiration.
love happened to father. about time too.
paranoia hit grandmother hard.
a persistent belief — that her daughter in law
was trying to bring the mother-son duo apart.
if only it were so gullible to be torn apart!
in the house. taunts and insults,
became quite too Common
unable to put up an indefatigable
show of acceptance.
mother gave up!
grandma was finally subjected to
a b a n d o n m e n t.
financial support didn’t make up for it.
father found his peace in alcoholism.
eaving mother s h a t t e r e d.
who was averse to the concept of change.
after all the being deprived the will to live
peacefully life altering.
father continues to be driven
by the lust of liquor.
despite mother’s despise and detest.
the conflict only resulting
in a war of words.
to fall out of love — they chose the answer,
for their reluctance to accept
the sinking bridge of marriage.
mother finally consoled by infatuation.
and so came into being
our desolate lives.
but i no longer dwell in it