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Farid Gul

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Member Since: Sep, 2008

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The last song!
by Farid Gul
Tuesday, January 19, 2010
Not rated by the Author.
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           >> View all 23

Small girls....
with little dolls in their laps
all wearing colourful clothes
in the middle of a burning sun heat, under the shadow of a Mulberry tree
are building strong castles....
castles of mud for their dolls.
They all eating ripened mulberries
their lips are reddish
they don’t need lip-stick
to wear on their lips
Smearing the mulberries juice on the dolls faces
dolls cheeks are flushed like
  the cheeks of a bride.

Small boys...
Under the shadow of another mulberry tree
few yards ahead -playing marble game
a game without rules
they scream, call names, laugh, show anger
get hurt at times....
complaints begins,
“Why did you cheat?”
“cheating is sin- you are a sinner”.

They devise another game
for the undecided winner!
They start running
towards an open airy hut
at the centre of the village.
Breathless as they are...
one of the boys foot start bleeding...
everybody gets concerned
a small girl tears her doll clothes
she made with love....
to put on his injured foot.....
boys are not concerned about the winner now!
a cry of cheating soon forgotten
a cry for help soon forgotten.....
complaints stops
accusation stops,
everyone seems happy.

They make up their amazing demands now
a glass of water,I am thirsty, please!
one brings the onion
another dried up naan, a piece of Gur
Azan begins on the loud speaker
everyone seems soft
everyone becomes attentive.

Mothers and grandmothers in their lifeless clothes
with silent fingers
straightening their wrinkles
wrinkles made of worries not of age.
From time to time
they try
to overcome their boredom
they exchange the hottest news of the village
and nearby villages
in low voices....
the story of a thief
or a murder
or a mad dog,
or a robbery
or a flood
the story of a wedding
the story of an old war their husbands fought so bravely
stories they all share- with curiosity
stories they all share with utmost interest.

Grandma comes out of the house
wearing heavy black shawl...
caring smile on her face
an encouraging look
or an instructive gesture?

A small dog...
moves around, as if lost looking for something
or looking for the food left over?
a caravan of camels passes – silently
in a row like prisoners of war
or defeated soldiers
boys starts running with caravan
and makes funny voices.

Dark clouds pile up above the sky
sun looks dim now
lightening and thunderstorm starts
heavy rain comes heavily....

Boys run to the mosque
a loud cry comes from the girls' palace ...
a small girl shouts in the face of everyone:
‘Heavy rain has come girls!
‘Heavy rain has come girls!
‘The palace has fallen girl!
In panic
they take their shawls,
leaving behind a deserted palace
they built with love.

Breathlessly they run to their own houses!
houses with no windows!
houses with no doors!
for drones has made it so!
And I stand alone
deeply disturbed
preparing to sing the last song
in David’s melody
in a funeral mask
the song of deaths dancing on my land!
the land of proud
but miserable Pashtuns.

Farid Gul, London. April 6th, 2009

 

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