@ Epitome Of Womanhood Poem by Sadiqullah Khan

She was roots, stems and leaves;
The color of vibrant fabrics, dark shrouds, crimson love.
A vegetative self, all given up, to an instinctive survival.
She would breathe love, she her children, and grandchildren.
A moral being gathering dew from wheat fields, from grass;
From a cow’s milk, from affection.
No one had taught her anything, but hardships,
Life’s toil and happiness shared in great contentment.
A character, like a pearl, discovered in demolition.
A spiritual self, without knowing the teachings
The sun’s rays, and the star of dawn, made her recognize,
From celebrations to celebrations, from funerals to funerals;
To the fallen, warm kisses on forehead,
To the vanquished, the generosity of an embrace.
Her children, grandchildren, were like apples,
Hanging to the branches, red, green and violet.
A mother, the epitome of womanhood.
A sense prevailing amidst dusts of mud, hardness of stones.
Like rain, like fragrance; like a distant memory, one hundred years old.

-For a grandmother, who passed away.

Sadiqullah Khan
Islamabad
April 8,2013.

An Afghan old woman covers from the sun outside her tent, north of Kabul.