[Dark Saint Alaick]

The following passage describes the portrait of just about anyone’s mother.

My mother
Just like moon, without fear
Faces all the clouds
My mother,
Just like clouds, without one word
Melts herself into downpour.
My mother
Just like earth, slowly, slowly,
Moves without anyone’s notice
My mother
Just like water, very slowly
Dowsing all the fires of sorrow

The hypocrisy of marriage is a frequently topic of Kishwar Naheed’s poetry. To describe it, she uses the word ‘Munafqat’ (hypocrisy) instead of the word ‘Samjhota’ (Compromise).

You are the people,
Who own the rights,
You have won,
Auction of rights for dowry,

If you just want to speak,
Then your punishment is death,
If you want to just breathe,
Then your place is in prison,
If you just want to walk,
Then cut your feet,
And carry them along.

Ishrat Aafreen writes:

I became taller than my father
And so my mother finally won.

To whom the women give
Their inheritance of agony?
Why do they lock up,
These jewels in the boxes?