as sadness looms upon this room,
the day is grey and filled with gloom.
as laughter plays inside my head,
i hear his angels gently tred.
they whirl and swirl amidst the air,
i sense that she can hear them there.
the rain does pelt to windowpane,
it is surreal though not the same.
i see her form from long ago,
so swift in movement and in glow.
her grace and knowledge she did give
with all surround as she did live;
and to the clock allah does turn,
as her life's minutes tick and burn.
penned for my Mother
`t. imaan tretchicovmanicova
copyright © 2008