The Childhood’s December

Sometimes in life, all you are left with is a handful of memories…

Yes, I remember

that childhood’s December.

When in shivering setting evenings,

sunshine would crawl down the back-yard wall.

The aroma of burning coal,

and on my rashed cheeks

the frozen tear-drops making lines.

Seeing the freezing fog of clouds

Mother would call us standing in the door

and we would all rush to our homes,

carrying those dirty marbles.

I’d look at the night sky

and secretly pray for the snowfall,

and in the early morning

pick up the starry flakes of falling snow in the yard,

gazing the snow-pouring sky

and imagining to be flying with those flakes.

Then you came…and the childhood’s December passed.

Then for hours under that crawling cold sunshine,

in those shivering setting evenings,

i kept decorating myself

with silvery snow tumbling from the sky

to catch your single glimpse,

and on that white sheet of Earth

all my foot-marks

came to your door.

Then that December passed too.

And look…i am still standing at the same corner of the street.

Shivering setting evening is there too

but golden sunlight doesn’t slither down.

Time seems to have stopped.

The snow flakes in my hair,

though pouring silver

can’t make them wet.

What a strange snowy evening this is

whose frost can’t freeze my tears.

The smoke of that burning coal

tickles eyes,

but has lost its aroma.

And look, the door of my home stands open but

Mother’s call is lost somewhere.

Why are all the roads to your house

so desolate?

How different this snowy evening is from my childhood’s december!

Hashim Nadeem

(Translated by me)

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