THEY CAME MARCHING MERRILY FORTH

By John Herlihy

1
The grandfather sat back in his armchair in wonder
As he sleepily nodded before falling into deep slumber,
Where memories and regrets and affection are firmly locked
Remembering the great Pashtu family he once decided to adopt.
Amid the world’s lasting unrest echoing the sound of thunder
They came marching merrily forth, one by one in number,
Settling down into his life like so many gremlins,
Respecting and loving him like a tsar in the Kremlin,
Enriching his simple world like a basket of oranges and lemons.
It was obviously a match that was made in Heaven,
A destiny that the old man never expected to be given.

2
They came marching merrily forth, shining like brass shields
A large Pashtu family rolled out one after the other on wheels
Their sweet voices echoing through the halls like tinkling cymbals.
The children came one by one in regular succession
Before anyone could make sense of their persistent progression.
Straight from the birth home of the brave mother,
Like rows of baked goods in the kitchen’s oven,
Cooked hearty and fresh without much bother,
They popped out most natural and looking like runts.
They came into the world already performing stunts,
A Mafia of children gaining strong all together,
Industrious as bumblebees their honey to gather.
Who could have guessed the total number they would come to be?
Only God in Heaven could create such a large family.

3
Ami, the mother, came marching merrily forth, fully grown,
A wonderful mother and a woman who could hold her own,
Only one thing scared her to death and made her run under the tree,
Gathering her veil and skirts and screaming like a banshee,
And that was the poor innocent gecko, hanging down from on high
Feeding to his heart’s content on bugs, ants and the delectable fly.
Still the mother with her brave heart produced a brood of nearly ten,
Cooking and feeding and slapping them with the speed of a mother hen.
In shouting matches with her husband, she gives as good as she gets,
Only later to harbor feelings of sadness and regret,
Before she has a chance to set aside her problems and completely forget.

4
Abu, the father, came marching merrily forth, fully blown,
As big as a giant and as strong as a bear, home grown.
He had a mind like a knife and a heart full of gold,
A man for all seasons who remembered the days of old
When people were noble and generous and proud,
Of all their accomplishments even if made under a cloud.
The children climbed up and down and all around their father;
He loved them with open affection and considered them no bother,
Until they began telling tales, fighting, crying and creating havoc
Then Abu’s booming voice would begin to stutter and splutter,
Making all the children’s tender hearts go aflutter and melt like butter,
Then all the children would run and hide themselves every which way,
Hearing Abu’s loud voice floating over the rooftops as far as the bay.
You are nothing but a d-d-donkey and a d-d-dog, he would stutter
As the children themselves began to stammer and mutter
Until the commotion would die down and emotions sputter.
Overall, it was a happy and thriving household,
Rich with living, as in the traditional days of old
When parents and children were alike naughty, faithful and bold.

5
Eight children came marching merrily forth, all home sewn
They came one after the other, here to stay until fully grown,
All dimpled and dappled like tasty dumplings in a stew
The father sat back and smiled as he sipped his tea, a milky brew.
The children were rambunctious as farmers ready to make hay;
The mother looked around at the gathering brood in dismay.
You would think she didn’t know the meaning of the month of May.
She being such a simple woman and not expecting any pay,
That eight children would come into the world on display
As examples of what can happened when father and mother are at play.

6
First Najma came marching merrily forth, on her own,
Happily burping, without so much as a groan.
Her name not surprisingly the Arabic word for star,
A star now cast in skin and bone, a good distance from Heaven afar.
She skips along the mud in the village road now somewhat grown,
All chubby and pink in red-colored cloth by the mother newly sewn;
Without a care in the world, just happy to be
Another rare fish in the great blue sea.
Grandpa gave her soft fuzzy slippers to cover her toes,
But she could never wear them; this became one of her woes.
They remained in the glass cabinet day and night on display
Looking like elegant footwear she would wear in a sleigh,
A gift of the grandfather before he went away;
The child Najma couldn’t wear those fuzzy soft slippers
On the muddy floor in the village dwelling at any time of day.

7
Then Zahra came marching merrily forth, to make trouble,
Laying on her back for all the world to see and cuddle.
She was a thick as a tree trunk and as chubby as a cotton sack.
Her eyes had deep layers and were hand-painted the color black,
As though the devil himself in a rear corner of her eye sat.
Plotting, scheming and winking her way through the world,
Finally showing her true colors like a banner unfurled.
She is expert in making up excuses and finding a reason
Whether it be morning, noon and night in any season
According to the father a few screws needed tightening;
But that was nothing that he could not set to rightening.
In fact, for a while she became the very wink of his eye
And behaved as though she were made of blueberry pie.

8
The day soon arrived when Wajahat came marching merrily forth,
No one could imagine that he would turn out to be such a swarth.
One night mother and father went to bed none the wiser,
Only to have mother whisper to the sleepy father like a miser:
“The baby is kicking; it’s about to arrive.”
He sat up in bed; the news enough to give him a fright,
As he gathered his wits about him with all his might.
Under midnight stars, they ran to the pick-up truck of a nearby neighbor,
Hoping to arrive at the clinic without getting stuck in the winter muck.
Grandmother, mother, brother and father-to-be as one great cavalry
Drove down the lonely village road and past the occasional tree.
The grandmother sat outside in the back of the truck with the mother-to-be.
Granny soon knocked on the back window with a rat-a-tat-tat.
Farman the father wondered what the matter could be
And who was rat-a-tat-tatting on his light truck so frantically,
When he heard the voice of his mother shout hoarsely through the glass:
“Turn the truck around." She shouted sounding like boiling sassafras.
He followed her advice without a moment’s hesitation;
This was women’s work and they were now going about the operation.
He and his brother hurriedly drove the truck back to the village square
All dismal in the cold winter night and not a minute to spare.

9
The two women sat in the darkness awaiting the coming of the spawn
Whose cry would shatter the night with the approach of the dawn.
But before the expectant father could find safe haven in the sleeping village,
He heard another insistent rat-a-tat-tatting upon the rear window glass
And the heavy voice of his mother now sounding like muted brass:
“Pull over to the side of the road,” she exclaimed.
As though another minute of driving would issue the baby they were awaiting.
The two brothers waited in silence, their hearts in their throat;
The two women in the back of the track worked as in an open boat.
And not long thereafter, as quiet and simple as the night sky overhead,
Farman the father heard the familiar rat-a-tat-tat knocking inside his head.
“You have a son,” his weary mother said, “Now the father of three.”
And the entire family sat back in the truck with a sigh full of glee.
They all rode back home into the village night at the next opportunity.
In this way, the beloved Wajahat came into the world to join his two sisters,
Happy and at peace with his brand new family like a kitten with whiskers.

10
Now Mariam came marching merrily forth, looking like a sprite
In addition to her three siblings, now making up the fourth.
As sweet as cake frosting and as content with the world as a cooing dove,
She sat on grandfather’s lap until well after she was walking
And would whisper sweet nothings to him just as soon as she started talking.
She exceeds her school mates becoming first in her class.
She takes care of Abu’s medicine bag like a mother hen
and watches over him as he carefully injects his insulin.
One looks at Mariam and thinks she will make a great mother
And bring forth her own children much better than any other.
Meanwhile, she continues to be a child full of mischief and glee
Happy to be alive in this large, noisy, crazy gang called a family.

11
Then came bad boy Raouf marching merrily forth, ready for a fight,
In addition to his four siblings now making up a strong fifth.
He arrived true to form in the middle of the night,
Like a devil in the making until the coming of morning light.
He thinks nothing of kicking, punching and laying on furious blows
To all those unfortunate children who claim to be serious foes.
Companion to his brother and Wajahat’s comrade in arms,
He beguiles the whole world with his unique and unyielding charms.
As a rambunctious bundle of joy when he was nearly three,
He accidentally stepped on his cousin’s bird, the beloved Tow-Tee.
The colorful feathers covered the bird as though dressed for a party,
Now lying dead on the ground, never to fly back into a tree,
While Raouf played roughly and chased the chickens waiting to be fed.
One day in the living room little Raouf fell down as though dead,
His mother put her hand to his heart and felt no beating, just nothing instead
She examined him closely, then sat back in dread;
His living color gone; eyes firmly closed, skin gone cold gray,
An eerie silence surrounding his motionless face and head.
Surely, she thought in her wild imaginings, this is not meant to be,
That this infant soul should return to God and from our family flee.
Seconds became hours as though the moment itself were to blame,
The world stopped turning on its axis and time forgot its name.
When suddenly with a mutter, his heart began beating with a flutter,
And he rose from the floor to be with his siblings, still groggy and pale
To live another hour and to tell another tale.

12
Now came Layla marching merrily forth, looking slim and slight,
As quiet as her namesake the mysterious and magical night,
Full of goblins and ghosts always ready to give children a fright.
She ate with her fingers and picked up sticks with her toes
And she made a big noise when she blew her red nose.
One night, the whole family went for ice cream at the mall.
One by one the children ate their vanilla cones and were having a ball
While Layla watched cartoons at home behind a closed door
Tapping her bare feet on the carpeted floor,
Mindless that the rest of the family had fled the nest
And left her to her own devices and not be a pest.
Grandpa felt terrible and insisted on returning home,
Afraid that finding herself alone she would begin to moan.
The family found Layla sitting alone as if nothing had happened,
Glad for once to be on her own without feeling saddened,
Happily watching TV and eating popcorn with abandon.

13
Then came Hasinah marching merrily forth, larger than life.
One morning, the mother came into grandpa’s bedroom carrying a knife,
Asking him what he wanted that morning for breakfast.
She served him fried eggs and potato paratha at his request.
Then she went into the bedroom and delivered the dark-haired baby, Hasinah.
The baby was slow as molasses and as chubby as a boar.
Unable to crawl, she would wallow helplessly on the floor
Looking like a whale that had been beached on the shore.
She had the mellifluous voice of a mezzo-soprano
And sang songs whenever she heard the sound of a piano.
The children at school called her chicken briani,
But she would cry out angrily in her deep mezzo voice
That she was a real human being and not chilly con carne.

14
Now came Aisha marching merrily forth, appearing so bright,
An angel if there ever was one and looking like light.
I am her grandfather and would take her in my arms,
The misty waif with soft flowing hair that tickled my palms.
She would look into the distance with the gaze of a thousand years
And say a few halting words that had the power to draw forth tears.
She would massage my forehead until it nearly bled
And would refuse to eat unless from my hand she was spoon-fed.
Whenever she was bullied by her siblings she would run to me,
Clinging to my neck for dear life with her tiny arms,
Hoping to find solace in her grandfather’s charms.
Who would have guessed that an old man of my spite
Would find generosity and true love from an adorable sprite.

15
Finally the about-to-be-born baby lay in silent suspension,
Awaiting the day of his birth with expectation
Kicking and yelling with gusto for all he is worth
A sprite, a seedling, a bud in the springtime of his birth,
He has no need of words and lies happily within his mother’s home.
There will be time enough all the world to discover
And all the mysteries of the earth to uncover.
For now it is enough that he is awaited in sweet anticipation;
His siblings have already named him Zakariyah in abstention.
They are waiting for all the world to see
The brand new brother that is soon to be.
He will come marching merrily forth, the youngest of the gang,
Perhaps not the last In the ever-growing army of Pashtu fame.