Mother’s pain on sale……
It was a blood stained long path
I walk with woodmen but I stumble alone
Winds, rain, darkness n pain piercing my bones
The beacon of hope has been lost
My heart beat numb by the engulfing frost
No one knows, though everyone talks
I carry this burden on my own
I am alive, my child is gone
Memories of your last smile
Last embrace, last kiss on my forehead……..
Is this all enough to make me go on?
Apparently it is!

I look around
Tiny specs with large shadows
All my youthful companions
Marching on the chant of justice
Eye for eye, hair for hair
May I question this?
May I dare?
The shadows coax me…move on
I scream once again—–All hail, all hail!
We can all hear a woman’s voice from the other end
Sons on sale, sons on sale!
What strange awful sound is that?
The horrid voice raises fear in the eyes of those beside me
I smile, a painful smile, I encourage, I coax
My friends, its just a hoax
We march again on the chants of justice…..

A large sparrow flies by
The shadow reaches the corners of my mind
At the end of the road…
Is it you, I will find?
It won’t be you, it will never be you
The voice of the woman now comes from within
Some parched tongued old hag she is
How she raises her ugly voice
Her dead gaze as dead as you were
I scream again ——-
“What if I sold you my dear?
Like they do business in smoky rooms?
Dollar for dollar, pound for pound
Sell whatever we found…..
The puffy cheeks, lifeless eyes full of dreams…
Your lean body dressed in formal suit
And yes the fingers
Aren’t these the fingers, that had encircled my hands…
..in a tiny clasp years ago?”
The voice stops but not the journey….
Time goes fast, but it has stood still
Like rain drops on the grass of your grave……
I can still feel the warmth of your embrace
The small hugs, the enchanted laughter
Time goes fast moment flies
But it could not steal he twinkle in your eyes…
Until bright rosy cheeks turned pale
Is it now time to put this all on sale?

I walk again, the woman’s voice is now louder than ever
All around me look at me amazed
The voice comes from my lips
I cannot believe it myself…is it I?
Like a seller in the village with a basket on her head
I sell you, your grave, your death bed….
The voices die
The march stops…..
There is no sunlight in the woods now
I bend and my parched lips kiss your lifeless brows….
My voice and the saleswoman’s voice merge 
Reality hits—-the son’s gone
And the mother wants the life to move on…….
Fe’reeha Idrees


About drzsmbukhari

Self Employed Medical Doctor. A forensic scientist who is deeply adroit, accredited in analysis of medico legal, postmortem & exhumation with 3 decades of hands on experience.

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