I cannot remember first becoming farther.
I see myself in the theatre
A canopy over my wife
Hiding her from grim sight
Holding her hands
Whilst they butchered into her to extract the boys
Each so small and vulnerable
Slightly bigger than my hand.
My memory's non-reliable
Not un but non
Because I believe I have none.
Emotionally detached.
Just another fact.
Strange that I need to be moved
For those sights and sounds that reside within me
For them to be made real.
Imagine if you can a life of fact.
Dull, never moved.
Emotionally lost.
A postcard life of snapshots.
Pregnancy is one place that we cannot go,
Cannot know, nor really empathise.
Emotionally detached.
Very often the babe is competition for your wife's affection,
And time.
Imagine that twice
Imagine that twice concurrent
Like a sentence handed down.
And when your friend explains it to you
You sigh with relief.
But now through all turmoil,
Far from being farther,
I am glad that I am a father.
I am proud of my sons,
The both of them.
And love them each,
Every one singly
All of them dearly.
Shafees.
On the 15th birthday of my twin sons. Their birth kunyas- Sayf and Emad Ud Deen. :)
Happy Birthday Boys.
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone
Location:Northwick Park
No comments:
Post a Comment