thank you for the gifts. i always wanted to own a part of her. now i can go back there, every time i adorn
her silver bangle or ruby ring or heavy velvet gown of green - embroidered seams with little mirrors and bright red patterns.
for a minute i am in control of what you saw and time stops. this is one of those episodes in life
which eventuate into nothing more than a moment of bliss.
then the wave of discontinuity shakes me to my bones and drops me, once again, into the well of not knowing.
i want to go there. where time stops at your door. i can see you youthful and lovely. i smell the spring scent in your veil.
you have henna colored hands and feet. you are twirling in your thoughts as you gaze at the sky.
i wish i knew what you dream of, mother.
i imagine you now standing next to her. you kiss her hands, now old and frail. so many years have passed
with both of you living far apart. and now this short time of reunion, which will never be enough.
i feel your tears making her breath slow. i remember you saying her milky white feet are like your own.
mother and daughter reunited.
i can't imagine you in the same room as her, but i would give the world to see you two converse.
i judge your pain of longing for her, from my own love for you.
how did you do it mother? now i know how strong you are. away from her warm eyes and guidance for so many years?
what frightens me now is the way you will have to say goodbye again. will this time be forever?
how will you cope with the empty places of those others who have passed away since you left?
--Zaheda Ghani
