By Aneez Fathima
April eighth a blissful day,
Allah bestowed a baby with ray.
Handsome with gorgeous eyes,
Enthralled us to be in highs.
Responded to the prayer call,
And astonished like a cute doll.
Dad brimmed with tears,
All happiness with cheers.
He struggled as a special child,
World couldn’t accept and chided.
Thrown to death in the earth
I bled even more than his birth
Fire blazed in my belly,
And burnt me alive ‘helly’.
I used to grieve and scream
But he became a dream.
A month before his birth,
My dad prophesied in depth.
Vague was then his phrase,
Explicit now with the phase.
May be a teenager if alive
In Barzakh enjoying live.
Now he is in the Safest Hand,
That won’t throw him to the land.
Birthdays revisited without him,
A painful day that pinned me dim.
Enduring with acceptance,
And thriving with tolerance.
- A poem dedicated to my late son Faheem.
