Abba

Abba is old now

and he fights no more with Ammi.

When I was 8,

I asked him –

“Abba! Why did you give me only 5 Rs?

Look what Amina and Sahil have got as Eidi,

Abba! I too want clothes from bazaar

Ammi can’t make those shiney Gararas”.

Abba did nothing but faked a smile,

From that day to my 18th winters I saw him

working day and night for my education.

He was fond of Ghazals

He’d recite Meer’s poem

every cold evening.

Ammi once told me that

Abba never looked at her

the way he looks at poetry books.

When I was born,

Abba called me a poem

and named me Ghazal after it

and Ammi had

metaphorical tears in her eyes.

Raising me was like

offering Namaz to Allah for him.

Abba was everywhere

whether it is about slapping Noor

for touching me inappropriately

or kissing my forehead

on my Asthama attacks.

He couldn’t stop his tears

in my hostel,

He said leaving me is like

crossing 700 skies

and on that day I saw

How actually love looks like!

Ammi told me that

he pretends to be strong

but cries in the nook.

As the days were passing by

He used to call me

sharp at 9 pm

and tells how much money is left

to buy me a laptop

and I heard Ammi saying-

If my Ghee is finished?

I started missing Abba,

My roommate shifted with others

because she found me

mumbling in my sleep.

My seniors would hate me,

I realised too much love and comfort

made me shy and lonely.

I didn’t know what it was

but then I bought cigarettes for me

and shorts to wear.

I lied to Abba for money deductions

and I found very easy to lie.

I never told him that

I was no more a Ghazal,

My Radif and Qafias were getting diabolic.

I was kissed by my Professor twice

and I made out with a random guy.

I was not my Abba’s Ghazal that he weaved,

I became an erased poem,

a copied poem.

I became a group of rejected words

in writing a Ghazal.

Abba doesn’t call me at 9 pm

and I’ve sold my laptop.

Abba is quiet now

like zeros after decimal

and I became the digit less than 5

at the third place after decimal.