she said:
'i know what it's like to look for love, to wish something into existence,
but my dear, the earth will survive a thousand wars before it learns to conceal you from pain.'
a warm fog of smoke masks my mother's tired and tearful eyes, she sits beside me on the bed placing a cup of Karkade next to my shivering hands.
Karkade was my mother's remedy, she would often tell me there isn't a passing sickness it wouldn't help cure. i remember the quiet nights in Sudan when the neighborhood was stilled with the sounds of Azaan (call to prayer).
down with a feverish dream i'd hear my mother's distant footsteps in the kitchen, making me a cup of tea, she would blow twice on the cup and tell me to utter a passing prayer for the fever to go away.
was it faith in your words Ummi,
or was it a habit
but i never once dared to doubt the magic of Karkade
Ummi...
the years…
the years aren't as forgiving
as you might think
i'm older now, much older
that not even your beloved tea could cure this broken heart.
she brushed my hair softly, brought my head to her shoulder to whisper,
'once upon a time;
once upon a wandering light of a twilight that visits me in the shape of a dream;
a dream that places itself upon my body, to govern & cover me.
i talk to your father then...
i talk to your father & he asks about you,
almost immediately,
i tell him of the sort of beauty you've grown into
he sighs into the unwilling air...’
does he miss me?
i ask her in shivers
‘in every corner,
he promised
in every corner
he said
in every corner
i've planted a lonesome prayer, to echo from the gates of heaven,
i am here.
i will always be here.’
she answers
holding me closer,
as i drift back into sleep
to the faint smell of a cold and untouched hibiscus tea.
