Before I was bleeding myself many times over love long demised,
I tore down my happiness into debris of sad memories;
That’s when you all came with your tiny steps towards my loss,
You said the words of forgiveness and I tried to stop looking back.
You were one but then you multiplied into your friends a hundred times,
So many little ones looking up to me with emotions so pure I nearly cried;
That’s when I decided this was my life and chalked it out with all of you,
My children brought me back from the torment I delighted and they set me free.
Angelic eyes are locked upon my every moment to follow in step,
So I am cautious now so much that I threw away the blade of pain;
So that they wouldn’t cut their delicate feet on the sharpness of my broken self,
I became more of them and less of me which was a charming sight indeed.
Now my days are spent in the company of my children,
They pray that their mentor should always be there when they hit the rocks;
If only they knew that once I too was adrift on the fatal shore of death,
And that they were the ones who pulled me ashore and sent me forgiveness.
Some of my children are too young to comprehend this rhyme of mine,
Some so pure that they wouldn’t recognize this corruption in spite;
Some understand but ignore it all and embrace in love renewed,
We all need second chances so I let go of the past as they hold my fingers.
No my children are not related by flesh to me or by blood,
Yet they are my very own in spirit with a dash of sneezy chalk dust;
They want to climb towards the azure emptiness above the clouds,
And they wish to start their climb on the rug of my shoulder with trust.
Many years have passed by but my craft continues to get intriguing,
Children come and then they stay forever more without even trying to;
When I lie my aching head on their shoulders they tell me their stories,
I realize then that all this time I had paradise always by my side.
But children of my soul listen to your teacher this once for a while,
About my loss a long time ago when the tide was near and I was about to die;
Do you remember then the sonnets I used to write?
Well little ones there is still a dull pain but good news is with you it heals fast.
Copyright © 2016 Fiza Pathan