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.