by Afra Ahmad
A man without limbs
grapples with negativity
to function properly.
She is not
just my mother.
The voracious nooks
and crannies
of this house
have been nudging me:
who will tend to us, now?
whose smile will
warm us up?
In response to
their plea,
I holler:
who will lull
my insecurities to sleep?
who will wipe
my profuse tears?
An obsession
with a mother
is different than that
with a lover -
you wouldn't have
arrived here
without a mother,
you have dwelled
near her heart
before entering
this realm
of murkiness and exhaustion.
Without her
every magical thing
that encompasses me
becomes meaningless,
without her
the synonym of
everything
is
nothing.
She is akin
to my limbs.
In her absence,
I resemble a man
without limbs;
In her absence,
I resemble a boat
adrift on the sea.
Afra Ahmad is a writer, poet, artist and calligrapher. Based in Taiwan, she holds a Bachelor's degree in English Literature. She writes about everything under the sun: from dark issues of the society to problems faced by teenagers to imparting chunks of wisdom through her poems, stories and write-ups. Her works have appeared in various magazines including Iman collective, MYM, Rather Quiet, Olney Magazine.