The Tailor's Scheme

THE TAILOR'S SCHEME

Snippety-snip,

The scissors cut through

Bundles of cotton, satin and denims blue.

Five small dresses of identical hue,

Identical fabric, identical sizes too!

Five small dresses for five girls aged 22,

Of varied tempers, varied virtues - ah!

And varied sizes too!

Round and round goes the spinning wheel,

Stitching shirts and skirts is no ordeal.

In gossips and stories lies the real appeal -

Whose mother's a witch? Whose husband's a steal?

Spinning, weaving and twirling a reel,

Crafting, creating, contriving a spiel.

In these hands of thimbles and needles of steel

Are nimble yarns ready to be revealed.

And in the Third Act the tailor sits pleased,

Gazing at the dresses - perfect, without grease!

He curls his lip to reveal his disease

As he snips at the threads lying at his knees.

Tattered and frayed they're lost in the breeze,

Years of woven knots, undone with such ease!

Snippety-snip - their souls are now seized,

Lost and defeated by the Devil and his schemes.

- Maryam Kaleem

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The Girl Who Sold A Basket

THE GIRL WHO SOLD A BASKET Every morning my father made me go to the station at Deoli and sell the baskets which my younger sister and I would make. Deoli is a very small station and only a few trains would pass by. Father had met with an accident a year ago, and ever since he has been unable to work at the wood factory. Selling baskets was the only means left for us to earn money. With what little we earned, we managed to survive. I was only fourteen then, and being the chirpy sort, I found it troublesome to sell baskets each day. The Deoli station hardly had any excitement; a tea stall, a fruit vendor, a newspaper seller and the office of the station master. That was all. No one got on the trains that passed, and no one got off. Summer was the only time I enjoyed my duty. Deoli itself didn't bring any change, but the trains did. The passengers were more and there would be more noise and more happenings. The trains would stop for the same ten minutes

The Call Of The Ocean

THE CALL OF THE OCEAN The sound of the gushing waves, Brought a smile to her young face. Running to the window, She witnessed Nature's grace. She placed her hands against the window pane, Far away, she noticed something coming her way. Wiping her tears, she gazed on, earnestly, At the Ocean spread all around - O what a wonderful scene! The rays of the sun danced on the ship's mast, Just like a net, on the ship - it's Light it had cast. Curiosity took over the little girl's mind, Behind the glass, is it not beauty that she'll find? In the dark of the night she listens to that Voice, Every night it says to her: Make Your Choice. With open arms, I call out to you, I yearn for dreamers, just like you. The waters receded, giving her a chance to speak, Ocean, do not be mistaken, for my dream is weak. Never will I be able to break these bonds, The view from here is more than I could want. On this the Ocean rose once more, Trying to move across the shore. Don't yo

Drought

DROUGHT There is no use, whining and complaining. You do not hear our meek, feeble voices. While you dance and rejoice in cool cascades, Burnt, barren - I lay on the blazing sand. Last summer did I harrow through the dirt, Digging deeper into my six feet pit, Sowing kernels I will never watch bloom - A meagre inheritance for my son What use is it now to keep that scarecrow? No yield remains for birds to snatch and steal. I have stood with my arms outstretched, waiting To be but denied by God's scavengers. So let me stand before this pleasant noose - A fertile ring against desolation. - Maryam Kaleem A late upload - dedicated to those farmers who have suffered due to the drought in recent years. Monsoon is here now, Alhamdulillah. I pray it rains enough. I pray our farmers live a happy, prosperous life. I pray they escape persecution. I pray they never have to take such drastic steps to have their voice heard.

Learning to Breathe

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