She has an old radio,
Old radio plays old songs; old songs kick up old memories,
Of a time when everyone was pretty much alive, parents, husband, siblings,
A time of happy madness, chores and chaos...
Today her lips tremble when she hears a child sing to her mother,
She herself is a mother, but that doesn't stop her from wanting a mother too,
Vulnerability is entrenched in our beings like fossils in a rock,
Unearthed, uncovered by a landslide of songs.
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| The Song of the Sufi Masroof |
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