“O ALLAH

if You must take her now

please give her the paradise”

is fulling me with its somber petition

and delivering me

on here in the door of this room

where you’re lying there

in its sterile and guilty ambience

your regal maternal splendor

covering-up the clinical remission

leaving you here cold

all alone with no cover

on a bed that’s not your own

                                                     “. . . renting, son, what I’ve always owned

so just to be here near you . . .”

your brown plum lips are solemnly emfolding

in a darkening purple and stubbornly

proclaiming the purpose of your life

keeping me safe and warm

here we are Mama

as we’re always wanting

together on with in one the other

holding hands in our still alone


Copyright © 1990, 2015 Asili Ya Nadhiri



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