Mama
“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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