MS (25-11-1960 / Pakistan)

The Resembling Shadow

The creaking sounds did make me wake,
Fetched me back from the dream lake
Of peaceful sleep, profound and deep,
Again did bring me to the world fake.

Rubbing the sleepy eyes I stifled yawn,
Waited, watched till the light of dawn,
My mother beside the spinning wheel,
Near my cot, she dragged and drawn.

The spinner was made of wood brown,
Her hands did move, the face did frown,
She raised her arm with twisting strand,
Then to the reeling spike it did go down.

She joined the strands when they broke,
To reply my questions she often spoke,
“The truth bears fruit and lie pointy thorns,
God loves those who love His needy folk.”

A feeble flickering flame copied the sight,
Her movements cast spell in the lamp light,
That threw the gigantic shadow on the wall,
Resembling the lunar’s, at fourteenth night.

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