Days and days past,
I stare at leftovers
in finished plates of Biriyani-
Bones and bones without
feathers- bones and bones before flight.
Your Umma’s hands
dipping your black hair strands
into the white sarlaas-
The rice stuck to onion and masala
moves in and out of her left thumb-
How long has she been cooking?
Before time- before world.
Clad in her hijab, sometimes let loose
her hair flies off with the breeze-
may be the wind carries some
thick sugar off her brown cigar
Stories lullabying in and out-
A kunjibee in her earrings
of gold tassels,
that shimmers bright with the sunlight-
like her eyes-
The mahr she received
to make love to the luminous fish.
The green of mosques-
the red of carpets or the white of pheran
there is no one colour to love-
they say-
That’s the best thing about falling for
a Muslim guy, one falls
for Islam too.
Today is the day,
when men of this country shall move out-
Today is the day you are betrayed on birth
I will remember your mother
when I leave.
That’s all-
that’s all to this love song.
