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Pir Abdul Gani

TO MY MOTHER ‘Tis thou where the ogin of love streameth, ‘Tis thou where the beauty of the world floweth, ‘Tis thou whose absence maketh the being unbeing, ‘Tis thou whose breaths render the sightless far-seeing. Thy every move yieldeth warmth, peace and calm. Thy voice, so soothing, and thy self, en-aplomb. Altruism incarnated, and self-sacrifice thy trait. Oh! I could sacrifice self for that motherly gait! Mother! Thou didst thy blood, sweat and tears, Thy blood, in our Form, long for thy Fairs. For all that thou giveth, how shall I pay thee? Shall melt like an ice, but can’t I get free, From the favours and blisses, endows of thine. Encastled was my life, and the home was shrine. When there seemed no one, sure there wast thou, To care, to caress, to pat and to love. Ne’er didst thou let any despond b’fall, Ever and anon, took the brunt of one and all. Thy life of purity made thoughts animate, And let our torturous agonies placate. Sure, was there peace and content all around, Oh! How the times, I wish, would get rewound! Yearn for the halcyon days with a wistful gaze, The repose, the calm, and thy smiling bouquets. Bore for us, pangs and pains, so taut and huge, Stoic and unswerving, braving the deluge. Serene voice of thine, for too much I long, My days and my nights now, not worth a song. The Heavenish Heights! Thy Love, no adulteration, Those days of balm, calm and many celebration. Paragoned sky virtues, thy heart untouched by vices, Serenity, simplicity and down-to-earth nices. Forgotten not those suffered pangs, tingles so acute. And thy ocean of sufferance to fight the Brute. Right and clear in my mind, the smiling face of thine. Emotional release – elixir to the sick heart of mine. Oh! Mother! Ye went quick to journey upward, Left us to bear the plunge in the downward. ‘Lord! Here I am, supplicative with the hands spread, Take her in thy blessed shade, with Elysian Fields ahead’.


This is our small vegetable garden.
though small, yet enough to vellicate my being.
My connection to it is emotional.
Every mote of it, to me, is more than gold.
The sections, to me, of it are ruminative,
For they have a sway to make me think,
Of some innocent, balmy days of yore;
When life in every aspect seemed liveable When the fear feared to frighten me
When worldly worries didn't dare to brush my skin
Such days are surely now the the gone by.

Its greens and soils smell soothing and enlivening,
Fragrance it gives off inwardly disturbs my heart,
Creating a gulch, like that made by floods,
In the recesses of my mind - combined pain and pleasure,
Beneath its soil and behind its greens,
I feel the presence of those who made me breathe and teethe,
Who toiled tirelessly hither and yon,
Sowing for our swath and growing for our growth.
Whose blood and sweat turned the soils battle.
OH! What a stinging feel! I feel the soul,
But not the body of what I am a part,
In this vegetable garden of mine,
Which I visit almost double a day,
Less to sow and grow, but more to hold a séance,
That I may feel the feels of theirs
Who have rendezvoused with the Lord.
Thus, have been enblissed for eternity.
© PIR ABDUL GANI BIO: PIR ABDUL GANI hails from Maratgam, Handwara, JK UT India. He is an English teacher to Secondary level students at Education Zone Mater. He has written many poems, some of which have been published in local newspapers. He holds an M.A. in English. In his native area, he is famously called 'The Britannica.'

We have enclosed a profile photo of the poet along with a photography of his vegetable garden in a gallery. If you would like to take a closer look, just a click on the image will give a full view.

Pir Abdul Gani
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