Skip to main content

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.
Sound upon sound upon sound,
Visions in multitude!

And outside - a deathly silence.


- Maryam Kaleem


Labels:

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

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 noi...
13 comments
Read more

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.
6 comments
Read more

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...
4 comments
Read more