Waking up on Eid as a broken and crippled orphan

Published: August 27, 2017

What did I do to wake up on such a great day without you two?

I could hear the noise saying the moon was sighted,
Joy all around, the festival was tomorrow but I wasn’t excited.

I stared at the moon, they all found it jubilant and bright,
It was quiet, too dark and for me, it felt like any other night.

Was it something I did or was it something I said?
That I don’t know of happiness with you now, it all feels so gloomy and dead.

I imagine celebrating with you, I picture how it could be,
And someday when we meet, I’ll ask you, mother – did you ever think of me?

Should I learn to live these times completely on my own?
Or should I celebrate – my hand in yours, father – and know that I am not alone?

I’m right when I say that these festivals are to me meaningless and unearned.
Because I never had these with you, and it isn’t from you every action that I have learned.

They say time heals everything, I may nod but it has never been true.
And don’t ask me why, I know everything about my life that time did not do.

Eid morning will be bright and breezy with the sky a crystal blue.
And I’ll just wake up and wonder… what did I do?
What did I do to wake up on such a great day without you two?

I’ll wait, wait a little more in hopes that someday you yourself would see,
That what you left behind in your shadows was a broken and crippled me!

Mother, all I have is an image of me wearing a new dress on one such day in your lap.
But reality is funny that way. Because I don’t connect to these memories enough to recap.

Father, you’re so far away and distant though you’re in no foreign land.
I won’t ask for too much, just a fatherly scolding and my shoulder beneath your hand.

Should I scream or should I say what I feel? Even though my voice may crack.
I’ve done nothing festive without you; all I tend to do is lose my track.

But do remember there’s no love like yours, mother and father, no protector like you.
And I’m blessed and filled with pride to be your child, there are not enough words to tell you.

Someday we might be together, we might look back and laugh.
And on Eid day, embrace each other and pose for our very first family photograph.

Ahmed Bin Qasim

Ahmed Bin Qasim

The author is a 19-year-old and hails from Indian administered Kashmir. He is a keen student of Philosophy and International Relations. He tweets @aahmedbinqasim (twitter.com/aahmedbinqasim?lang=en)

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