Skip to main content

A Mother's Winter


A MOTHER'S WINTER



I pray to God you never know,
My prayers are never answered though.
The winter's dark and dreary here,
All that's wicked is masked with snow.

See you yonder a man so queer
Who wanders far when death is near?
Is that the Reaper on the lake,
From whom I've fled all through the year?

With frightful fear I sit and shake,
My child I've made a huge mistake.
I pray my errors you do sweep,
And flee this winter's frost and flake!

Hurry now, child, into the deep,
Glance not behind, my promise keep.
Shelter find and a place to sleep
While with God's angels must I sleep.


- Maryam Kaleem



If you find the poem vaguely familiar, it's because I've used the end-rhymes from the famous poem 'Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening' by Robert Frost, and have re-written the rest of the poem. This was a fun experiment. Hope you like it!

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Double Murder

DOUBLE MURDER Book spread-eagled on the desk Fallen flat after a leap of faith. A morbid, macabre morgue, It stinks of rotten Fate. Skin grainy and wrinkled, Pale yellowy flesh. Dog eared, unbound, A murder - bloody fresh. Scarlet rivers overflowing Every finger, every limb. Veins of protein rich blood, Splattered over the brim. Black ants form a queue Muttering in meters, Chanting hymns to the Devil And his creeping, crawling critters. No lone murder, Second victim at its side. Eyes in Keatsian stupor, Dead or alive? Kick the bodies over, Pages unfurled fly. A shroud for the corpse To let out a sleepy sigh. Alarm bells a-ringing, A frantic dance of unrest, Caffeinate the eyes, Tomorrow's the test! - Maryam Kaleem

Calling on an Empty Home

CALLING ON AN EMPTY HOME Familiar streets, familiar buildings, An old key to match the rusting lock A stubborn door, weathered and wise - Lift it to the right and it creaks open. The old wooden table, with notches and scratches, The same burn from the spilt milk. I wince - I feel the sting, a decade too late. The same wall with incomprehensible dashes Like ants crawling in zigzagged fashion, A letter, a dash, a number, An unraveled code of growth and wisdom, With dusty trophies as evidence. A worn desk with crumbling papers And jammed books, All holding the memories of a time that once was, A time, never found again. Familiar walls, familiar pages - An absence of faces, an absence of voices. Memories volleyed from wall to wall, Fate decreed, page after page, Now lying undisturbed, unheard. A flood of nostalgia unleashed Through the opened door Into a cold, fragile mind, Brimming, overwhelmed, Screeching with echoes. So...

"A" Splash

"A" SPLASH (An exercise in "a") Splash splash - sand at hand. Mama, Dad, Pat and Sam. Play games, make sandcastles, Dance and camp. Races, matches, darts and dashes. Lads and lasses at lake paddle. Warm days pass - sprays and splatters Ah! Happy days! At battle, army lad - shatter, smash. Take all. Slay all. Waste away masses. Shake pain. Stand. Attack. Stab stab stab Face gnashed. Car crash. Splash. Scarlet dash. Harsh hands Scratch scratch scratch. Fate damned. At last, Calm. Stand, stare at vast waves. Strapping, tall splashes. Salty taste. Splash splash splash. A sad statue at stable pace. Advance away, army lad. Waves take haste Rapids gyrate Gasp and pant Sharp rasp Aghast Agape Call and wail Hands raised Sapphire haze! All Black. A final splash. - Maryam Kaleem